


and I Looked Back on a Broken World

by raziella



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Animagus, BAMF Harry Potter, BAMF Hermione Granger, First War with Voldemort, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter Has a Saving People Thing, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Horcrux Hunting, Horcruxes, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Master of Death Harry Potter, Minor Character Death, POV Alternating, Plotty, Slow Burn, Some Canon Character Deaths, The Deathly Hallows, Time Travel, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:15:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 138,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24339502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raziella/pseuds/raziella
Summary: “This is the most stupid thing you’ve ever done!” Hermione yells after Harry. Then she blinks. They’re no longer at Grimmauld Place and, sitting huddled together on a familiar four-poster bed with red hangings, are four teenaged boys, staring avidly at them. Well, this is just brilliant, she thinks. “And you didn’t even get the year right!”Or: the one in which Harry is done with the war and thinks it’s time he got something he wanted for a change. He misses his godfather, goddammit.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Harry Potter, background Hermione Granger/Remus Lupin, background James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 1241
Kudos: 3472
Collections: Creative Chaos Discord Recs, Fics to follow along to, Harry Potter, Stories That Deserve More, did someone say time travel, harryxanyoneandeveryone, i solemnly swear i up to no good, literally amazing i could read these over and over





	1. And time again

**Author's Note:**

> This baby is going to be looong. It's not complete, but I've got ten pages of chapter outline and I've had it sitting in my drafts for over a year so here we are.  
> I haven’t written HP fanfiction in years and years, but recently I’ve fallen back in the fandom and got irrevocably stuck on the time travel trope (as I am wont to do in any fandom) and this just had to be written.  
> 

“Why do you ask?” Hermione asks suspiciously as a cold tendril travels down her spine. This can’t possibly be good.

Harry shifts his weight sketchily and Hermione’s eyes narrow. 

“No reason, just curious about the time space continuum and stuff”. His gaze is stuck on a spot slightly over Hermione’s shoulder and Hermione knows there is nothing but plain wooden walls there.

“And stuff.” Her voice is very flat.

“Ye- eah. You know, because you know stuff.”

This is getting ridiculous with Harry refusing to meet her gaze and Hermione holding on to her patience with her teeth.

“Anyway, if you don’t know, I won’t bother you anymore. I’m sure you’re very busy…” Harry eyes her cluttered desk, the piles of books and floating memos and unfinished reports mingling with research and quills. 

Hermione fights down a blush. She is a messy worker, at least to the casual observer.

“I am, and _still_ you showed up in my office when you know Yasmin, and everybody else for that matter, will grant you entrance.” There’s an unspoken _saviour_ heard, nonetheless. “So clearly you thought it was important. Not an idle idea.” She waits patiently for him to spill.

Her wait is futile as Harry just shrugs. She suddenly misses the times when she would be in on his plans, be part of the team being tight lipped to _others_. 

“Well, if you should change your mind, you know where I’m at,'' she says and she’s sure he understands she means more than just the question. It’s a small plea to let her in, an offer to help.

He smiles and she breathes a sigh of relief.

~o~o~o~o~

That was four months ago, and Hermione feels this has gone on long enough. It isn’t so much that she hasn’t seen Harry since, it’s just he has been… distracted would be putting it kindly.

Standing outside Grimmauld Place 12 with her hand poised to knock and hesitating, she ponders boundaries and the obligations in friendships. She planned to go here straight after work, and she has, but she didn’t count on the sudden influx of paperwork and an epiphany in a case she just had to jot down and a floo call to an associate and talking down to junior assistants from a stress induced breakdown and, well... 

She casts a glance at her timepiece and frowns at the hand pointing at the IV. Surely that can’t be right. 

Squaring her shoulder she draws a breath and knocks sharply. Slowly the air seeps out from between her lips when there is no answer. There wouldn’t be, she thinks sourly. It’s in the middle of the night and everybody sane is sound asleep. Briefly she considers going inside with the spare key Harry gave her some years ago, but it feels too much like overstepping her bounds and she can just as easily come back tomorrow, or later today. 

She is one step away from turning and disapparating when the lock in the door clicks and the door swings open.

_He never was sane_ , she has the time to think before she stands face to face with Harry, not in sleepwear but his Hogwarts cloak of all things.

“Hermione?” Harry asks, surprised.

“Harry,” she nods and walks in when he steps to the side. “I’d apologise for waking you but I can see you haven’t done. Is something the matter?”

She patiently sits down in the kitchen when he puts a pot on the stove and rumbles through the cabinets for proper tea. No bags for Hermione, not since their blasted camping trip in seventh year and Hermione smiles as he readies it without a word.

He places two cups on the table and deposits himself in the chair opposite her. “I could ask the same.” He regards her purple robes and clearly comes to the correct assumption she has arrived from work. He does her the favour of not commenting.

“I was worried.” Harry hums slightly. “You’ve been asking questions… and been rather drawn back.”

“I rather fancied myself a vacation,” Harry admits and sips his tea. He immediately lets it drip back into the cup, blowing on his tongue. Hermione tries to restrain a wrinkle appearing on her nose and fails. Harry smiles, amused. “Turns out I’m not good with inaction.”

“I could have told you that,” Hermione states primly

“Yeah? You were all for it though, if I remember correctly.”

“I’m sure you don’t.”

Harry smiles ruefully and shrugs. “Either way, I decided to do some research, add on to my education if you will.”

“You could have done that through official channels,” Hermione intervenes and then swallows her arguments when Harry stares at her. Admittedly the press and public have been going a bit insane about their saviour. She and Ron have experienced it plenty and Harry bore the brunt of it for the first few years. “It wouldn’t have been impossible, if you wanted it,” she can’t help adding on.

“I guess I didn’t.”

And really, what else is there to say?

“So what’ve you been researching?”

Harry is quiet and Hermione realizes that this is at the centre of the issue. She waits with bated breath as Harry sips on his tea again, this time cool enough not to burn his tongue.

Eventually he swallows and looks up to meet her eyes, and she is suddenly very, very afraid.

“Time travel.”

Her heart near stops.

“Harry-!”

“Hermione, you don’t understand, it’s-”

Hermione, who is almost hyperventilating, stands up. “Oh I understand plenty, Harry. You lost so much, so many, not just in the second war, and I understand the temptation when you’ve seen powerful magic up close and know the possibilities, but _Harry_ , _you mustn’t meddle with time_.”

She tries to make her voice steady and reasonable but looking at the gritted teeth and tense line in Harry’s shoulder, she guesses there is no way to be gentle about this.

“I have to,” he says mulishly, and Hermione hates him for being such a- a _child_ about this.

“You really, really don’t,” she says coolly.

“I’ve researched it and-”

“Oh, so you’ve spent a couple of months reading a couple of books and now you think you’re more clever than the most intelligent researchers throughout history who _all_ state that you _mustn’t meddle with time_?!”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“Then stop acting like one!” she yells and relishes the flinch it receives.

Harry stands up suddenly, and Hermione thinks for a wild second he’s going to fight her, but he simply leaves the kitchen. Numbly she follows him, out to the hallway. She idly notes that the portrait of Mrs. Black has finally been removed, good riddance.

“I think I’ll head to bed now, so I’ll see you in a while, Hermione. It was good of you to stop by,” Harry says and moves to open the front door for her.

“Harry-”

“Hermione.”

“If you’d just listen. I get it, I do, but don’t you understand the risk? If you even manage to get back, which is a big _if_ , considering the volatility of far-reaching time travel through unregulated means, which are _all of them_ since the Time room was destroyed-” Hermione draws breath to continue but Harry holds up a hand.

“You would have made an excellent research partner in this, but this is clearly something I must do alone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry. You don’t have to do anything alone. That’s what friends are for.” She ignores his raised eyebrow and muscles on. “I’ve backed you in everything you’ve ever set your mind to, what makes this different?”

“Oh, nothing much except for the possible destruction of the time, space and reality as we know it,” he answers sardonically and she flinches, because yes, essentially that. “Look, I appreciate you saying that and I know you’re a good friend, but this stuff is personal, and you don’t believe in it, so I…” he hesitates but then visibly steels himself and continues, “I don’t want you there.”

She pretends that doesn’t feel like a slap to the face. She breathes slowly for a few seconds while Harry stares resolutely on the floor, an angry blush rising high on his neck. Usually when he’s angry, he’ll stare right at her as if he can convince her through sheer force of will, and she grudgingly admits he _has_ , on more than one occasion. It’s that vibrant green; it’s hard to doubt the utter conviction. This… this is not that. He’s not trying to convince her. He’s trying to get her to leave so he can do it alone. 

He glances up at her and she’s surprised at the wetness she detects in his eyes before she sucks in a surprised breath. He quickly ducks down again, but too late, she thinks.

“It’s not about the war, is it?” she asks but it isn’t a question. “This is about Sirius.”

Harry flinches and Hermione’s heart breaks a little bit for him.

“Told you, it’s personal.” His voice is very small.

“But it won’t be, not if you do this. It’ll have ripple effects big enough to change the future into something unrecognizable.”

“Don’t exa-”

“I’m not exaggerating! You have no idea what his death meant in the grand scheme of things.”

“Oh, so you think our chances would have been worse with him around?” Harry yells, suddenly furious.

Hermione bites her lip, she hasn’t needed to argue against Sirius’ recklessness in a long time and has forgotten the eggshells that still surround the subject. “It’s not that,” she tries.

“But it is, isn’t it. You never trusted him to be able to help, thought nothing more of him than a misguided and reckless youth with no thought to consequences!”

She flushes because that is essentially what she always thought. Still thinks. 

“Harry, he went through a lot, and was quite young when he was sent to Azkaban-”

She is ready to go on for a while but Harry interrupts her: 

“And you’d be right, he was all those things and because I was an idiot and didn’t listen and fell for Voldemort’s _obvious_ trap, I got him killed for it! He never got to live his youth and when he finally got a chance to, I took it away from him-” Harry sucks in great gulps of air and Hermione places a soft hand on his shoulder.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispers.

Harry chuckles, a humourless sound. “No, it never was, was it? All just in the good fight. But this was different. It wasn’t in a real-, it was completely unnecessary, and he went there for _me_ because _I_ screwed up.”

“He wouldn’t have had it any other way, Harry. He loved you, he died for you and if he was here, he would call you an idiot for saying any of this.”

He lets out a surprised laugh and bows his head. “Yeah, maybe. But he’s not.”

“No, but no matter what, he would have wanted you to go on to live happily, and not dwell on his death.”

Harry nods along with her but then seems to do a mental shrug and steps back. “I really have to do this, though. It’s already set up, and believe it or not, it’s not actually that dangerous.” His eyes flicker to the left, betraying his reassurances.

“Harry, you _can’t_ do this. It’s too dangerous,” she pleads, and it feels like they’ve started all over again. Her words feel hollow and she’s emotionally drained.

“It’s happening,” Harry says and looks up at the grandfather clock in the other end of the hallway and lets out a small curse. “It’s time,” he says. “You should go,” he says but doesn’t really make any attempt to make her leave. He walks towards the staircase.

Hermione doesn’t hesitate and follows him quickly. Her heart is beating a mile a minute because apparently it’s happening right now and she doesn’t know what to do to stop him. She jogs to catch up to him as he ascends the stairs, all the while still attempting to dissuade him. 

“This is the most idiotic thing you’ve ever done!” Hermione yells after Harry as he enters Sirius’ old bedroom. She enters after him, through his yell of warning, and-

There is a swooping sensation in her stomach, not entirely unlike a portkey displacement but it seems to stretch all the way up through her ribcage and lands somewhere beneath her throat. It’s a thick sensation that pulls her down, all the while her internal organs at twisting. She’s certain she will vomit. The world spins, faster and faster, too fast to keep track of any steady point until it's a whirlwind. She closes her eyes against it but it makes no difference. She thinks she will faint-

Then it finally stops.

She blinks. They’re no longer at Grimmauld Place and sitting huddled together on a familiar four-poster bed with red hangings she hasn’t seen in at least four years are four teenaged boys, staring with large eyes at them. _Well, this is just brilliant_ , she thinks. 

“And you didn’t even get the year right!”

“What,” says one of the dark-haired boys who Hermione recognizes as a young Sirius Black.

“The hell,” completes an equally young and alive James Potter.

“Who’re you?” demands a small and chubby boy who Hermione assumes must be Peter Pettigrew.

Remus Lupin, who’s staring equally shocked at the pair of them, doesn’t say anything but is thinking rapidly going by the flickering of his eyes between Harry and herself, their robes and the empty space behind them, as if looking for a portal or something.

Harry turns around to look at Hermione and she’s somewhat gratified to see the look of utter terror on his face.


	2. The Marauders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which conversations are had and decisions are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say a huge THANK YOU to each and everyone who commented and left kudos - it made me incredibly happy and I've picked up speed on writing this. It's such a joy to know there are other time travel and marauders fans out there still going crazy over new content. Thank you, a million times over!

“I was thinking pixies,” says Sirius. Peter nods supportively. Remus slurps on the soup. “Slughorn isn’t very quick on his feet,” Peter giggles appreciatively at this, “so it’s a perfect distraction,” Sirius finishes with a flourish and looks at James.

James is looking at Lily.

Which is normal. James is always looking at Lily. What’s new is that Lily is looking back, and James has an expression on his face as if he can’t believe his luck. 

In all honesty, neither can Sirius. It has been an ongoing bet whether Lily or James would give in first. Sirius only bet on James because his best friend is the most stubborn person Sirius knows, but he had never actually believed Lily would change her mind. Having seen James in his most disgusting teenage boy moments of splendour, Sirius can still hardly believe it. But it’s true. Looking at them now is nauseating.

Lily and James seem to be performing some silent communication where James is giving Lily the biggest, most sickening lovestruck eyes in history, and Lily is slowly stroking his fingers.

“And then I was thinking we should just whip out our meat puppets and flap them about in Defence to really make an impression,” Sirius says almost desperately.

Remus chokes on his soup and Peter almost falls off the bench.

“I’m listening, Pads, I just don’t think this prank is really setting the right example for the younger students,” James says with a glance his way.

 _And then he goes back to staring lovingly at Lily_.

Sirius quietly gags.

“Since when have we ever cared about setting any kind of example, save for becoming the most renowned pranksters in Hogwarts history?” Sirius demands, and stabs his sausage viciously.

James shrugs helplessly and then seems to get lost completely in Lily’s eyes.

Sirius turns his head away in disgust and ignores the tiny prickle in his chest whispering that what he’s feeling is jealousy.

“What about dungbombs?” Peter suggests, helpfully.

“Boring,” Sirius wails and slumps onto his arms on the table.

Remus pats him consolingly on the shoulder and offers him a piece of his treacle tart. Sirius pretends not to see Remus’ smirk when he wolves down the pudding. No pun intended.

~o~o~o~o~

It is later, in the Boys’ Dormitory, when James has reluctantly parted from his girlfriend, that they’re finally discussing the prank for real. Or, at least Sirius is.

“No, hear me out,” he says when Remus huffs at him from behind a book and James is playing with that stupid snitch again. Even Peter seems to have lost interest as he’s digging through his trunk for Merlin knows what. “It’s genius!”

“I hardly think the appearance of a niffler in the potions lab is going to go unnoticed, and I thought we were going with pixies?” Remus states drily.

“Pixies are _boring!”_ Sirius moans and Peter seems to agree with this going by the insistent nodding he’s doing.

“And while we’re on the subject, where do you suppose we’ll be finding all these magical creatures? I don’t think Kettleburn will let you anywhere near his creatures after the disaster in fifth.”

They all quiet down in honour of the memory from the horrific disaster in fifth year, an endeavour they vowed never to repeat.

“I could find a niffler,” Sirius says after an appropriate amount of reflection.

“Sure you could.”

“You don’t sound very convincing,” Sirius complains with a whine. 

“I wonder why,” Remus mumbles low enough he probably thinks Sirius can’t hear him.

“Your moon is showing,” Sirius says sullenly and buries his head in his pillow.

“Don’t be ridiculous, that was over a week ago,” James interjects.

“Now he speaks,” Sirius grumbles into his pillow and yelps when James throws the snitch at him.

“Hey!”

“Bad reflexes,” James notes.

“I wasn’t looking and this isn’t a game!”

“Of course not. If it were, I’d have thrown you off the pitch for childish behaviour.”

A beat of silence where James’ eyebrow hooks in an almost comic arch on his forehead.

“Now wait a sec-” Remus says and raises his hands in a placating gesture, but it’s too late.

Sirius throws himself at James with a howl. “I’ll show you childish!” he yells and fits his hands into claw-like weapons with which he attacks James’ sides mercilessly.

James squeals loudly in breathless gasps and scrambles to get away. Sirius grabs his robes, because he hasn’t changed out of them, the pretentious twat, and drags him back by cloth and ankle. Remus attempts to separate them but ends up in the tumble as well.

“Hey, guys!” Peter yelps but keeps well away from shooting limbs and accidental kicks. “Guys, come on!”

“Yield!” Sirius growls through a chokehold he’s furiously ignoring.

“Never!” James chokes out in a garbled voice and equally furiously.

“This is idiotic” Remus wheezes out from somewhere beneath them.

“See, even Moony thinks you’re an idiot,” James grins, although it looks fairly strained and his face is turning an alarming shade of red.

“Pretty sure- he was- talking- about- you,” Sirius forces out through blocked airways.

“I wouldn’t-,” James begins but is interrupted by Remus straight out screaming - in irritation with James - Sirius can only assume.

“That’s it! Just let me up, let up!”

Remus eels his way out from under them, pulling until his foot unsticks from under Sirius, and overbalances rather spectacularly onto his back, head and shoulders flopping over the side of the bed. He rearranges until he can lie down back on James' bed, at a safe distance from the still scuffling boys. He glances at them. 

James is now sitting rather awkwardly half-way across Sirius’ stomach, one of his legs in a weirdly twisted hold. Sirius has his arm locked against his back and is attempting to shove off James with his one free leg while still holding onto James’ leg. Sirius assumes they’re both equally red in the face as they’re fighting.

Remus snorts and throws his feet up against one of the posters of the bed and puts his hands behind his head to rest and closes his eyes, apparently completely at ease.

James glances behind him and Sirius almost dislocates his neck when the hold he has on James’ head suddenly gives.

“Son of a Bludger!” James exclaims and spills down onto the floor in an undignified puddle.

Sirius enjoys his victory with a cry of triumph which is completely soundless, save a rasping breath, and two raised fists. James caresses his bum and sends a glare up at Sirius.

“If you’re quite done,” Peter says, the only unruffled one of them all (Remus hasn’t noticed his tie is hung backwards and he’s missing two buttons from his shirt), and sits down on the foot of the bed. Remus moves in to make room for him with a wary eye on Sirius who smirks. “I think I’ve figured out the distraction we need.

They all watch as James, after some violent shuffling and a swear word Sirius wouldn’t repeat in front of his mother, dumps down on the bed again.

Sirius ignores the kick James aims at his ankle as he asks Peter to elaborate. He can’t help if his wand suddenly feels like pointing at James and sends off a silent stinging hex (his wand is wilful, it’s hardly his fault).

James flinches violently when the hex lands, and Sirius is pretty sure the intended shove would have sent them straight back into a scuffle if the world hadn’t suddenly turned very bright with a high-pitched whine echoing all around them.

~o~o~o~o~

There is a moment of complete stillness in the Gryffindor Boys’ Dormitory when nobody speaks. Harry thinks his heart might beat out of his chest with the pace it’s going.

“Prongs,” Sirius whispers and grabs a fistful of James’ robes.

James seems to be beyond words, too, and a weird _ngh_ ing sound is all that escapes him.

“James,” Remus says. “Is that-, I mean, he’s-” 

Clearly unable to continue, James nods.

“Yeah.”

Harry looks between his father and his godfather and feels utterly under-equipped for this. They all look so _young_. He’s taken aback by how similar he is to James - this age and with his hair messed up from a scuffle, going by their ruffled robes, and his glasses. Sirius is hardly recognizable. Handsome, his aristocratic features, straight nose and high cheekbones, pale skin and mercurial eyes. Even dressed in a nightgown and with rumpled hair he looks undeniably beautiful.

Harry casts a glance at Hermione, who is staring back at him with eyes, wide and worried.

“Harry,” she says very quietly, and he gulps in a breath of air, realizing he hasn’t been breathing. “This is, I don’t know what this is, but we can’t,” she struggles, “we can’t _do_ anything. It’s entirely too dangerous.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

A smidgeon of indignation wells up. 

“Yeah, but Hermione, what are we going to do?” He gestures at the four teenagers who flinch. “They’re right _here_ ,” he says, and, after a beat of silence, “I mean, _we’re_ right here.”

Despite his very eloquent way of expressing his concerns, Hermione appears to understand him, but she’s shaking her head. Her eyes are full of sympathy as she says, “We have to get back.”

Harry stares at her for a second. 

“How, though? It’s not as if there’s a reversal button on this thing.”

“Didn’t you read-”

“I read _everything_ , and that’s not how it works,” Harry explains impatiently.

“Did you really-”

“Everything!”

They stare at each other. Hermione bites her lip. Harry is still breathing heavily through his nose. 

He can practically see the thoughts whirling through her mind and he is impatiently waiting for her verdict. It seems important. She wasn’t part of the plan but now that she’s here he is unexpectedly happy to have her with him. He’s not conceited enough not to realize he would have died multiple times over if it wasn’t for her. And still, he waits for her to say something along the lines of ‘it’s hopeless’ so he can go about pretending nothing’s wrong and blunder along in the half-cocked plan like he intended.

“Are they… going to move?” Sirius asks all of a sudden and both Harry and Hermione jump, somehow having forgotten their audience.

“Jeez, Pads. Read the room,” James mutters and it’s as if the whole room draws a breath of air as the tension subsides.

“What? It was a genuine concern! They were just standing there, being all ‘we have to’ and ‘yeah, I know’ and finishing each other’s sentences. It was weird! Does no one else think it was weird?”

“It was weird,” Peter agrees and looks at Sirius.

“Definitely weird,” Remus mumbles and Sirius pats him on the back.

“Like Remus says: weird!” Sirius crows, triumphantly.

James glares at him. “Hardly the point. What are we gonna do about this?”

“Do?” Peter squeaks, suddenly worried.

“They’ve invaded our dormitory. They’re not students,” James gestures wildly to Hermione’s purple robes, “We have to alert Professor McGonagall, at the very least.”

“It might be a good idea,” Harry whispers to Hermione but clearly not low enough as all four teenagers swivel their heads to regard him. “Er… “

Hermione ignores their goggling and says, “We’ll have to speak to Professor Dumbledore anyway, so maybe we should just… let them... '' her lip twitches, “defend their room?”

“Are you mocking us, Witch?” Sirius bellows and jumps from the bed, brandishing his wand.

“I would never!” Hermione mock-gasps and young Remus lets out a huff of amusement, although his eyes are still wide and watching them carefully.

“Hermione,” Harry says, uncertain of when the moment turned from serious ‘we might ruin the world’ to ‘the danger has passed, time to laugh at nearly dying’.

She is stopped from having to answer as the door to the dormitory is swung open and two tall, imposing figures with wands raised, march in. 

It takes Harry but half a second to recognize them as Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall. He gives them a small smile which quickly dies when he is met with steely eyes and no spark of recognition.

“Misters Potter, Black, Lupin and Pettigrew,” Dumbledore says calmly, “if you would be so kind as to move behind Professor McGonagall and myself. Keep your wands raised and your backs to the wall.”

Harry, who jumped when Dumbledore called his name, swallows quickly. Nausea wells up in his throat, and glancing at Hermione, he can see her fighting tears. They haven’t really considered the fact that in wartime, or any time, a breach in Hogwarts’ security is _a big deal_. 

As the boys are evacuated, Professors Flitwick, Slughorn and a very young Professor Sprout have ascended the stairs. Dumbledore and McGonagall move into the room along the walls, letting the professors behind them move in through the doorway and forward to block the entry. Harry and Hermione are faced with a very graceful half circle of Hogwarts defenders.

“We can explain,” Harry says loudly, realizing very quickly that they might not be able to do that at all.

“We’ll be very interested to listen to that explanation, just as soon as you drop your wands,” Dumbledore says, again, very calmly. 

Sprout’s wand is trembling slightly and Slughorn is very red in the face, no doubt from rushing all the way up to Gryffindor tower from the dungeons where, if Harry isn’t mistaken, the Slytherin Head of House quarters are situated.

Harry fishes up his wand from his robes and drops it to the floor, all very slowly as he can see McGonagall tense as he moves. Seeing Dumbledore’s awfully familiar wand held steadily pointed at him, he’s relieved he chose to go with his holly wand, rather than the Elder Wand as he had first contemplated. He isn’t sure what Dumbledore would have done if faced with a twin to his Elder Wand at point blank.

He hears Hermione drop hers next to him. A soft clatter.

“Now,” Dumbledore says pleasantly, as if they have all gathered to have tea together on his invitation, “if you would be so kind as to follow me to my office.”

“Professor,” McGonagall interjects, “surely it would be better in a more neutral and _secure_ location.”

“I can think of no place more secure than my own rooms, Minerva,” Dumbledore assures her and gestures for Harry and Hermione to head down the spiral staircase first.

Marching slowly with five fully trained and very competent wizards and witches pointing their wands at their backs screams at every one of Harry’s survival instincts, but he forces the voice to shut up. He repeats quietly in his head that they’re allies, that he trusts them, over and over. It helps very little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it!


	3. Dumbledore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments - it makes me sooo happy to know people are reading and appreciating this <3

Slughorn drops into a big fluffy armchair that Harry is fairly sure wasn’t that fluffy a moment ago. Sprout stands halfway into the office and fiddles with her sleeves. McGonagall is standing by the door, as unruffled as ever and her stern gaze hasn’t left the two youngsters since arriving. 

Flitwick, who walks in last, surveys the room and marches up to the fireplace and positions himself in front of it with an inscrutable expression on his usually jovial face.

Professor Dumbledore sits down behind his desk and offers them lemon drops. Hermione declines with a small shake of her head; Harry accepts and grabs a small handful, letting his eyes travel the office, identifying differences. For one, he can’t find Fawkes anywhere although the pedestal he usually sits on is there.

He thought it would be different sitting here as an adult, years after everything happened (relatively speaking, that is). He meets the penetrating stare of his former headmaster and thinks of the time preceding his greatest sacrifice; how he wished more than anything for one more conversation with the old wizard in those final moments before walking into the Forbidden Forest.

“Now,” Dumbledore says and gestures for Hermione and Harry to have a seat in front of the large oak desk. “You have the clear advantage here,” and before Harry can raise a sardonic eyebrow indicating their surroundedness he goes on, “seeing as you know us, but we don’t know you.”

Hermione draws breath as if to speak, and then pauses, looking at Harry. He’s unsure what she’s looking for and shrugs.

“I’d say the playing field is just about level,” Harry says, confirming to Dumbledore they do indeed know who they are.

“We don’t even have our wands,” Hermione injects, and Harry isn’t sure if she’s agreeing with him or arguing.

“You’ll get them back just as soon as we’ve assessed your intent, Miss…?” Dumbledore responds with an inquiring lilt to his voice.

Hermione stares back at him for a second, jaw clenching and then unclenching very deliberately. “Granger.”

“Well, Miss Granger, you and your companion would perhaps like to explain how you managed to find your way into the Gryffindor Boys’ Dormitory without crossing the perimeter or, in fact, using any known travel magicks known to me.”

It isn’t phrased like a question. He is merely giving them the chance to answer before he takes the answers from them, like the hostiles they have arrived as.

“I think,” Hermione says slowly, “that the fewer people who hear our explanation the better.”

It’s not strictly necessary to send anyone out given their advantage of knowing that no one in this room will ever join the dark side and are intrinsically trustworthy people, but Hermione is clever. She knows how to bargain with information, and more importantly, she knows the damage knowledge can do when in the hands of, not even someone evil, just careless. All it takes is one slip, after all.

“These professors are all people I trust,” Dumbledore says, predictably. “And I’m afraid I can’t send any one of them away for your comfort.” He looks upon them regrettably.

“We’re from the future,” Harry blurts out, because he isn’t artful and he hates mind games.

He is about to continue when he finds his tongue tied into a literal knot. Glaring indignantly at Dumbledore, he attempts to bring his hands to his face only to find them bound at his sides. Going by the sound of shuffling to his side, Hermione is in a similar predicament. 

He’s still trying to untwist his tongue, with a great deal of spitting and coughing when he notices that the other professors have gone and only Dumbledore remains, standing right before them with none of the twinkling in his eyes remaining.

“It takes someone very foolish or very confident to reveal themselves a time traveler,” Dumbledore says by way of explanation.

“You wouldn’t make them leave,” Harry says, pleased that his tongue cooperates.

“To _anyone_ ,” Dumbledore clarifies.

“We had no choice, Professor!” Hermione defends and then sends a snotty glare in Harry’s direction “Although a more subtle approach wouldn’t have gone amiss.”

“And why is that, Miss Granger?”

“Because we need your help,” Harry answers.

“How peculiar,” Dumbledore states and elaborates, at Harry’s confused look. “I mean that you would go to the Gryffindor Tower when you were apparently searching for me. I shouldn’t think you got lost seeing as you seem to know your way around the castle and appear to know both my staff and I, by both face and name. It’s peculiar.”

“We weren’t looking for you,” Hermione says, “at first, I mean. We were going to see-”

“The past,” Harry quickly interjects, and Hermione, bless her clever mind and loyal self, doesn’t blink.

“But only to look, see? We didn’t expect to _end up_ here! And now that we are, we need help getting back.”

Harry isn’t quite pleased with this conclusion but bites his tongue seeing Hermione shoot him a death glare, daring him to contradict her.

“Oh, well, that’s different,” Dumbledore says, and some twinkle returns to his clear blue eyes. “Is there any particular reason you wished to see this moment in time?”

As Dumbledore quickly seems to change his mind about hearing the answer, Harry hurriedly says, “We missed.”

“Ah. I see,” Dumbledore pulls a hand across his long white beard in contemplation. “But Hogwarts, nonetheless, no?”

“Missed,” Hermione chimes in with an exaggerated grimace as if to say, _What can you do?_

Dumbledore hums for quite a bit, turning his back to them. It’s a low, almost musical sound that shouldn’t be as calming as it is. Dumbledore walks to his desk, moves around it and sits down to shuffle through a pile of parchments. The humming is still going strong. Harry glances at Hermione who looks just as uncertain.

Harry very discreetly tries to wiggle his wrists out of their magical hold. By some miracle they loosen and snap open, only to make a curious whiny noise, slap his hands in retaliation and then snap back, this time twining all the way from his elbows down to his fingertips. 

“Well,” Dumbledore says, drawing their attention back to him, or rather, only Harry’s, as Hermione hasn’t stopped watching him. “I think I’ve got the picture.”

Harry feels, given the information they have divulged, that no sane man could possibly have the picture.

“Two bright young wizards find themselves curious about the past. They do their diligent research and finally set on a date to revisit through the looking glass, so to speak. But regrettably find themselves not in the right place, nor the right time, but decide that rather than send a distress signal to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, telling a room full of strangers they’re from the future is the appropriate course of action,” he holds up a hand. “Yes, I’m aware we’re not strangers to you, but to us, you are, and given the situation and possible solutions, you’ll find that whatever comes out of your mouth has no way of being corroborated and are, therefore, rendered moot.”

Summed up like that, they do in fact, sound like idiots. Harry feels a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck.

“While I search for a way to send you back, I’ll advise you to go about daily life as quietly as possible without drawing attention to yourselves and-, yes, Miss Granger?”

Harry stares incredulously at Hermione’s raised hand. Really?

“I think, Professor, you’ll find that no matter how low a profile we keep, we won’t be able to blend into the walls and our presence here will definitely cause ripple effects.” She spares Harry a glance at this before continuing. “We would be better off going into hiding, or leaving for the continent, or-”

“I feel it’s better if you remain here in the school, actually,” Dumbledore says. He stands up and walks down to a bookshelf situated behind Harry who cranes his neck to see what he’s doing. “In fact, going by your robes, oh, excuse me, I never inquired about your name, Mister…?”

“I think it might be better if he didn’t-” Hermione begins, and Harry bulldozes over her.

“Jameson.”

He meets Hermione’s gaze with a straight face. 

_“Really?_ ” she mouths, a quiver in her cheek betraying either laughter or fury; Harry has never learnt to tell the difference.

“Going by your robes, Mister Jameson,” Dumbledore continues, “you appear to be a student still and Miss Granger, maybe a year or so past graduation? Certainly young enough to pass for a student.”

Harry feels as if this is fate’s way of messing with him, and with a resigned huff, he nods.

“Excellent,” Dumbledore breezes past them holding an incredibly old, and very familiar, hat. “Now that we have that figured out, I think we should sort you two properly into Hogwarts Houses,” he cheerfully exclaims holding the Sorting Hat as if to drop it onto Harry’s head.

“No! Absolutely not!” Harry jerks away. The vines around his arms very reluctantly give him some leeway and then snap back when he settles in his chair. Harry is still giving the man with the hat a mistrustful look when he holds it back to himself.

“But it’s tradition for students at Hogwarts to be-”

“Yes, we’re well aware, and we have already been sorted…”

“Then I see no point as to why you shouldn’t be sorted again, for my peace of mind, if you will,” Dumbledore says, sounding infuriatingly kind, eyes sparkling.

“It’s actually stated in _Hogwarts, A History_ that no witch or wizard has ever been allowed a resorting,” Hermione pipes up and Harry almost laughs in relief when Dumbledore’s face crumbles in disappointment. “And no matter what confidentiality clauses the hat is under, I really don’t think anyone should be allowed into our minds. Think of what could accidentally be revealed,” she stresses.

“Yes, well, I see your point. May I inquire as to what houses you were, ah-, will be sorted into, in your time?”

“Gryffindor.”

Dumbledore does not seem at all surprised by this and smiles as he sends them on their way to the Gryffindor Common room with a “ _be careful_ ” called merrily after them.

Harry is too relieved they’re actually let go to argue against the logic and safety (and sanity) of letting them off so easily. He lets Hermione grab his sleeve and drag him away at a running speed.

~o~o~o~o~

Hermione doesn’t speak to Harry on the way back to the tower. She shushes him forcefully when he attempts to open a dialogue. He follows her gaze to the many portraits lining the walls. Holding his tongue, he sighs and walks beside her.

Just before the portrait of the Fat Lady, she stops and says very quietly:

“He almost certainly knows more than he’s letting on.” Harry nods at this, because Dumbledore almost always knows more than he’s letting on. “We obviously can’t get involved,” she says and checks to see that Harry agrees. He nods again. “While we try to figure this out, we have _got_ to stay out of the way. Harry,” she pauses again to stare him directly in the eyes, “at least _try_ to keep a low profile.”

He has to push down a wave of impatience. Does she really think he doesn’t understand the situation they’re in?

She looks pleadingly at him and he’s forcefully reminded of all the times her precautions have saved their lives.

He nods.

“Of course.”

They turn to walk into the common room, and both realize the problem when the Fat Lady raises an inquiring eyebrow.

“You didn’t happen to catch the password, did you?” Hermione asks, already resigned.

“Going _out_ the portrait?” Harry asks.

“I didn’t think so.”

Ignoring the indignant squeak of the Fat Lady, Hermione reaches up on her toes and rapidly knocks several times straight onto the painting.

“I hardly think-” Harry forces out through choked back laughter but shuts up when the portrait swings open. “Wh-! That just seems like a safety hazard!”

“It didn’t seem to worry you whilst breaking directly into our bedroom,” a different voice answers from inside the common room.

“Sirius!” Harry exclaims, grinning. Again, he is struck by the utter exuberance radiating off the young man. So much life and brilliance.

“Yes, it is I, Sirius Black, the knight in shining robes, come to the rescue,” Sirius replies, waving about his arms in a, _``Yes, I’m quite brilliant, look your fill´´_ kind of way. Harry does.

“It’s armor, actually,” pipes up a tired-looking Remus, “and the only thing about you shining is that ridiculous hair of yours.”

“Hush, you peasant. What good would armor do against wizards? And besides, I’ll have you know these robes are quite dashing, weaved with strands from an occamy.”

“I thought occamies had feathers. They don’t have strands,” interrupts James.

“Irregardless-”

“That is _not_ a word!” Remus says, a certain strain to his voice as he ignores the groans this earns him.

“We’re not doing this again,” James determines. “We’re here about the interlopers.”

They all turn as one to Harry and Hermione, who’ve crawled through the portrait hole during their discussion. Standing together, the boys form a united front, and for a moment Harry is seeing double, through years into another time and generation.

“I see they let you back out,” James says, leaving the sentence open-ended, intended for them to jump in to answer the unasked questions.

“They did, and now we’ll be going to bed,” Hermione proclaims, and Harry is amazed at her ability to cut through nonsense. “Good night, Harry. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She quickly hugs him and as she’s pressed around him, she whispers in a low breath: “Don’t tell them anything,” and marches up the stairs to the Girls’ Dormitory and disappears from view. 

Harry envies her the ability to go into hiding. 

He turns slowly back to the marauders and stuffs his hands into his robes, awaiting their judgement.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Harry asks.

“Who are you? What are you doing here? How did you get into our dormitory? What did Dumbledore say? How come they let you back out?”

“How come you know my name? Why d’you look so much like James? Are you from an alternate reality? Is this the mirror world? What was that weird light when you came through?”

“Why’re you wearing Hogwarts robes? Are you students? Are you in Gryffindor now? Are you going to be staying? How come you didn’t arrive on the train?”

“Where did you come from? Are you from a different country? No wait, you’re speaking English… Are there other wizarding schools in the United Kingdom? Were you homeschooled before?”

It seems the questions could go on.

“My name’s Harry”, he says, quite possibly for the first time in a really long time, to an audience who doesn’t know. “I’ll be your classmate starting tomorrow.”

“Term started over a month ago,” Sirius objects.

“Good of you to keep track of the date,” Harry says.

Remus chokes on a laugh. Sirius looks stumped. James stands stock still for a second and then howls in laughter.

Harry isn’t quite sure what possesses him to mess with them, but it feels normal. Like messing with the twins. Harry grins at them and is almost starting to relax when something serious comes over James’ face and the laughter dies away.

“Don’t get smart with us,” James says in a stern voice, hands on his hips.

Harry gets hit with a mental picture of what his dad would have looked like had Harry ever had a chance to be raised by him. 

It’s like a gut punch. This is his _dad_. Standing before him, alive and well. Protective of his friends, clever and brave. It’s so much like Harry had hoped before he saw him in that memory of Snape’s. A father to be proud of.

And yet.

There’s a beat of silence, and then:

“You’re such a dad right now!” Sirius howls.

“You totally are,” Remus agrees with an amused smirk and Peter, who Harry had barely noticed joining them, laughs and slaps James on the arm good-naturedly. 

Harry bites back on the anger that rises up in a flare. _Not the rat he will become_ , he tells himself sternly. The teenager who’s laughing with his friends is a far cry from the man who lived as a rat for twelve years. A far cry from the person who would choose to betray his friends. This Peter wouldn’t dream of giving up his friends to Voldemort, who already holds the wizarding Britain captive in fear. This Peter is just a boy.

Nevertheless, all humor has left Harry. He clears his throat.

“Well, I’ll be off to bed.”

The laughter tapers off as they focus back on Harry. Sirius looks ready to fight but James gives Harry a once-over and deems him dead on his feet.

“We should all get back to bed. Catch the few hours we can, before it’s time for class.” 

He shoos the others up the spiral staircase and Harry thinks he might get off this easily, when a hand lands on his shoulder. He physically startles. The hand belongs to James and it’s on his shoulder. 

“Hey, Harry,” he says and Harry bites back a sound. He didn’t realize how hearing him say his name would affect him. “Have you got a schedule for tomorrow?”

Thinking it through, Harry realizes that he does not, in fact, have a schedule. He wonders if Hermione has realized yet.

James seems to be able to read the answer on him and smiles kindly. His smile is so much like Harry’s own, like the one in his pictures of his dad, and Harry drinks it in.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get you sorted tomorrow. I’m sure McGonagall can whip one right up for you and your friend.”

Harry nods gratefully and then they finally, finally, head to bed. He’s relieved, although not entirely surprised, when the room seems to have grown a fifth bed for him. He crashes into it with relief and is out like a light.

He doesn’t hear the other boys cast a sound cancelling charm and he definitely doesn’t hear the long discussions they hold about the appearance of him and Hermione.

Harry sleeps peacefully for the first time in months.


	4. Almost like normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to so thank you for all the lovely comments! They make my entire day <3

Harry wakes up when a pillow hits his face. He jerks awake and has to close his eyes against the light streaming in. Someone has pulled the draping aside and thrown a pillow at him. He spots the culprit once he manages to get his glasses on and can see Sirius stifling a chuckle as he pulls on his robes.

“Morning, Sunshine!” James calls from where he’s standing in front of a mirror, apparently working hard to make his hair look properly disheveled. 

“Morning,” Harry grumbles and gets up. His eyes are bloodshot he sees when he washes his face. Not enough sleep, he guesses. “Breakfast?” he inquires when he passes Remus on the way back to his bed.

“Sure,” Remus says, pleasantly, “but you should go see Professor McGonagall so you can get your schedule.”

Harry grunts in agreement but he’s not sure he can hear him as he’s halfway through his robe and the sound is muffled.

“Hurry up, slow-poke!” Sirius is saying to Peter, who has managed to sleep through the ruckus of the Marauder morning routine. “You’ll miss breakfast!”

“Don’t wanna,” Peter whines into his pillow.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!” James exclaims as he appears to be done with his hair and has turned around to regard the others in the room. He gives Harry an almost surprised look which Harry doesn’t know what to do with. “It kick starts your metabolism and gives you energy to get through the day-”

“Yes, thank you, we know,” says Sirius and smashes his hand into James’ face who splutters. “We’ve heard it before. Now, get up, Pete,” he continues to Peter who reluctantly wiggles out of his blankets and pulls his robes right of his pajamas. 

“‘S cold,” he mutters defensively when he sees Harry looking.

Harry looks away, not caring to respond.

In the Common Room, Hermione is waiting for them. She has switched out her robes for black school robes and Harry is hit with such a strong sense of deja vu he has to blink several times before greeting her.

“You look like you slept about three hours,” she says and Harry notices the bags under her eyes.

“Likewise,” he murmurs.

“Sorry to break up this lovely reunion,” Sirius interrupts, “but we’re all starving and you’re holding us up.”

Harry turns half-way to look at them and then says to Hermione, “We’re going down to breakfast. You coming?”

Hermione hesitates, “I thought we ought to go to Professor McGonagall and get our schedules in order…”

“We’ll do it right after,” Harry assures her and she nods, agreeing.

~o~o~o~o~

They make their way to the Great Hall and Harry is reminded of why he loves Hogwarts so much when he sees the tables set with fried sausages, eggs, kippers, rolls, bacon, cereals, toast, coffee, tea and orange juice. He doesn’t wait when they sit down at the Gryffindor table and stuffs his plate full with as much food as he can manage and gulps it all down very quickly. Even James looks a bit impressed and Sirius curiously digs at his stomach, inquiring, “Where are you hiding it all?”

“Stop it,” Harry grumbles as he sips his tea.

“No, really?” Sirius insists and actually grabs at his robes as if to pull it up.

Harry stops this quickly, face growing red. Hermione giggles and Harry gives her a betrayed look. She sticks her nose back in The Daily Prophet and doesn’t resurface.

Peter is staring morosely at his bowl of porridge, looking a bit green. James is scooping up his portion with determined scoops.

“Good morning,” a sweet voice interrupts them.

Harry looks up and spits out his tea. It dribbles down his chin and wets the entire front of his robes. Harry doesn’t notice.

It’s Lily.

She looks just like in all the pictures Harry has of her. The red hair flows down her back in graceful, light curls and her green eyes stop on Harry and widen in surprise.

“Oh,” she says, sounding surprised. “James, is this your-?” She doesn’t finish her sentence, clearly not knowing how to. The resemblance between James and Harry is uncanny but she surely knows James has no siblings.

“This is Harry,” James offers, mouth still full of porridge. He swallows and then reaches up to give her a short, sweet kiss. “Morning,” he mumbles against her lips.

Harry looks down in his lap, cheeks red and brain empty. That’s his mom. And dad. And they’re _kissing._ He doesn’t know how to handle this.

“Hello, Harry,” Lily offers and stretches out a hand for him to shake. “My name’s Lily.”

“Hello,” Harry says but it comes out more as _hurrough_. They all pause to look at him curiously. His hands are sweaty but he tries to ignore it as he takes her hand to shake. “Nice to meet you,” he manages to get out.

“Hello. My name’s Hermione,” Hermione offers, quick to give him some air. Harry is grateful. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Lily offers, a more genuine smile on her face as she shakes hands with Hermione.

She climbs onto the bench next to James, stabs a piece of bacon and eats it straight from the fork. Remus pours her a big cup of coffee which she takes and drains in one go, humming in delight.

“Thank you, Remus.”

“Did you finish the essay Professor Flitwick set?” he asks and Lily hums.

“Don’t know how much sense it’ll make but yeah, finished it last night.”

“That’s what you get for procrastinating,” James grins and ducks when she flicks a piece of sausage at him. Sirius catches it in the air and seems to swallow without even chewing.

“I seem to remember it was your emergency quidditch practice that forced me to take your rounds-”

“That can’t be right,” James argues, but his shoulders are shaking.

Harry watches in avid fascination as his mom fits herself into the group. Of all the times he thought of going back, of seeing Sirius again, he never once considered that he could also be meeting his mom, and get to see his mom and dad together like this. A small piece of himself that was worried, ever since he saw that memory of Snape’s and thought his mom hated his dad, finally relaxes. She loves him as much as he loves her.

He laps up every ounce of affection she gives to the people around her, even as she ruffles the hair of the still drowsy Peter. Her eyes briefly meet Harry’s and Harry is struck by how green they are. He really did get her eyes. She quirks a smile and looks away. 

He startles when Hermione kicks him under the table. He looks quickly at her to see her raise her eyebrows in a _``be more subtle´´_ signal. Harry would if he could, he thinks, but makes a concentrated effort to stop staring at his mom.

He drinks the rest of his tea, fiddles with his cutlery and eventually looks up at Hermione again.

“Ready to go?”

She’s still eating her toast and is only halfway through the newspaper but clearly understanding his desperation, she nods, putting down her toast and standing up. She collects her things, Harry didn’t even notice she had any but there you go, Hermione being prepared for the inconceivable.

The others look up when they rise. 

“Going already?” 

Sirius is resting his head in his arms but quickly swings his legs over the bench and shuffles around, ready to follow them. He looks eager to leave and seeing the way he is looking at Lily is giving Harry some idea as to why. He wonders what’s going on there.

“We’re getting our schedules from Professor McGonagall,” Harry says and the others seem to accept this without further ado.

“I’ll show you the way,” Sirius says immediately and jumps up.

“I’m Head Girl, I should be showing them the way,” Lily interjects but she has only just started shuffling eggs onto her plate and James shakes his head.

“No, you eat. I’ll do it,” he says and kisses her temple.

Sirius makes a loud gagging noise and jumps out of the way when Remus swats after him.

“I just said _I’ll do it_ ,” Sirius says and drags Harry off with an arm around his neck. Harry looks behind him to Hermione who smiles and shrugs. “I’ll see you guys in defence!”

Hermione follows them from the other side of the table, but with a much more polite goodbye to the others.

“Those two are just nauseating these days,” Sirius complains as they get out of the Great Hall. He continues to make kissy-face imitations and wet sounds that Harry does his best to ignore. “I mean I get it, she’s the love of his life, yada yada. But can they get a room?”

Harry doesn’t say anything and Hermione helps again by asking about Sirius’ schedule.

“I’m taking the same as James,” Sirius says as if this clears everything up. “We’re gonna become Aurors, join the fight against the dark side soon as we get out of here.”

Harry suppresses a shiver. Of course they are. Seeing them here, though, in school, young and unmarred by the horrors taking place out in the real Wizarding world, has briefly made Harry forget that Sirius and his dad were both recruited to the Order of the Phoenix and would go on to join the war. Looking at Sirius now, he looks happy and confident, and sure, he never lost that confidence, but his face, gaunt and haggard after twelve years in Azkaban, will never fade from Harry’s memory. It keeps haunting him.

“What about you? What are you gonna do?” Sirius asks them after a little while when the silence stretches between them.

“Yeah, same,” Harry mutters and Sirius smiles.

“Yeah, I knew soon as I saw you, you were made from tough material.”

He laughs and slaps Harry on the shoulder, jovially. Harry tries to match his smile but it feels slightly stiff.

“Not really any point to doing anything else until he’s gone,” Hermione says and Sirius nods.

“Yeah, exactly! That’s what I keep telling everyone. Clever, you are!”

It’s a little consoling that Hermione looks about as happy about the conversation as Harry.

“What will you be picking?” Harry asks her quietly when Sirius is distracted by a Slytherin student passing them. Then something else hits him. “D’you know what year they’re in?”

Hermione gives him an exasperated look. “Seventh. Didn’t you see the plaque on the dormitory?”

“Ah,” says Harry, feeling stupid. “Course, yeah.” He clears his throat. “So what subjects were you thinking?”

“The same ones I actually got,” Hermione says as if this should be obvious.

“Why?” asks Harry.

“Well, if I’m to have time working on finding a way home, I can’t be distracted by studies and if we’re stuck here, I want to have a chance at having a life, meaning actually useful N.E.W.T.s.”

“Huh,” says Harry, who hadn’t thought of it that way.

“What about you?”

“Same as sixth, the ones I would have taken if I’d actually returned to Hogwarts for my N.E.W.T.s.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

She looks pleased when he glances over at her. He fights down a smile.

~o~o~o~o~

The visit to Professor McGonagall’s office is short-lived. She asks them for their subjects and flicks her wand at a quill that quickly writes up their individual schedules and a book list which she encourages them to send for at Diagon Alley. She’s not exactly rude to them but even as the stern Head of House they know her as is beaten by the calculating gaze she offers them in this time. Clearly Dumbledore hasn’t shared what he knows, or he has, and she’s understandably concerned.

Their first class is double potions with Slughorn. He is also less than jovial towards them but warms up quickly when he sees that they’re both capable. 

It is quite some time since Harry was in a classroom and he has few fond memories of this particular one. It helps that it isn’t Snape teaching the class. Harry has grown quite good with potions in his time at the Ministry, and Hermione’s as particular as always.

In the class is also James, Sirius, Remus and Lily. James and Sirius have paired up but appear to be doing something different than what the instructions on the board dictate. When Slughorn passes their table he looks down in their cauldron and chuckles, leaving them be. 

Remus and Lily are also paired up and they work well, cheerfully talking and moving with practiced ease. When Remus told Harry that Lily was always kind to him, he hadn’t understood how close friends they were. He finds he is happy for them.

“Excellent work, Lily!” Slughorn says as he bends over their cauldron to check its contents. “Perfect, as always! Five points to Gryffindor.”

“Focus, Harry”, Hermione mumbles and Harry looks down to see the caterpillar he was supposed to be chopping up has crawled its way almost to the end of the table. He snags it up and quickly finishes cutting. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” Hermione whispers.

Harry follows her gaze to where she’s looking. In a dark corner, working alone - the student clearly meant to be his partner turned away chatting with another Slytherin - is Severus Snape. Harry didn’t even notice him. He’s hunched in on himself, mumbling under his breath and ignoring everyone around him.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees.

He has conflicted feelings about Snape. Much like Lily, he hasn’t spent much time thinking about him when he planned this. Seeing him now, though, he realizes that it should have been obvious. No matter what time he landed in, it was likely Snape would be there in one way or another.

Every once in a while Snape looks up to stare at Lily. Harry checks to see her reaction but she appears to either not notice, or is purposefully ignoring him. After their fallout then.

Snape seems to sense his gaze because for a second their eyes meet. Harry doesn’t have time to do anything but gape but Snape sneers and it’s enough to remind Harry of the many years he spent hating Snape, and being hated in return.

He doesn’t decide on anything in that moment, but the overwhelming number of things he hasn’t thought about begin to dawn on him. Listening to Hermione mutter instructions and ingredients as they chop, measure and stir is comforting.

~o~o~o~o~

In the afternoon they have Charms with Professor Flitwick. It’s strange that so many of the teachers are the same, Harry contemplates as he picks a seat next to Hermione. Strangely comforting, but also weird. Like this is a place that never changes. He knows that’s not true, of course. Not only are most of the students in this room dead in his time, but in the Battle of Hogwarts, as it has come to be referred to, most of the school was in shambles, whole sections turned to rubble.

Hermione, who seems to be sensing his dark thoughts, places a hand on his arm. He places his on hers, in thanks. A small shared moment.

“Breaking up an intimate moment?” Sirius says loudly and plants himself on Harry’s other side. He’s looking intently on their touching hands.

Hermione glares at him but removes her hand. Sirius grins, unbothered. James and Remus join them a moment later; they seem to be discussing a homework assignment they are due today. Harry can practically feel Hermione’s anxiety ratch up.

“We can’t possibly be expected to hand it in since we don’t even know what _it_ is,” Harry tries to reassure her but she purses her lips disapprovingly.

“Mellow out,” Sirius says dismissively, “Flitwick’s funk. It’s casual.”

Harry almost chokes trying to cover up his laughter. Hermione kicks him under the table but Harry can see her lips twitching.

“Really? Thanks,” he gets out. 

“Ya, baby,” Sirius says and gives him finger guns in response.

“This is bizarre,” Harry breathes to Hermione who nods.

James and Remus have stopped their discussion to listen and Remus chuckles a little.

“Half the time I don’t know what’s coming out of your mouth, anymore, Pads,” James says but he looks delighted.

“Tight.” Sirius puffs out his chest as if this is the greatest compliment. “Rockin,” he adds on.

Harry might actually suffocate from holding in his laughter but thankfully, or regrettably, Flitwick chooses that moment to appear, jumping up on a stack of books to gaze out at the class. He is perhaps a little younger but mostly he looks the same, Harry thinks as he takes a moment to scan him a little closer.

“Quiet down, class,” he pipes in his squeaky voice. “Today we’ll be continuing on where we left off last week: with non-verbal magic.”

Harry flinches a little. He never got very good at wordless magic. He glances at Hermione, but she looks calm. Sirius and James aren’t even listening, they’re busy whispering to each other. Remus is taking notes, but he has his book open and seems to be looking at it as much as at Flitwick.

“As I’ve said before,” Flitwick continues, “for your N.E.W.T.s you’re expected to perform all your magic wordless so we’ll be doing a lot of practice on this, along with everything in your seventh year text books.”

Here he stops and seems to realize the additions to the class. He looks down in his call list and pips a little when he apparently notices the new names. 

“I hope you two have studied amply in your previous school because you’ve entered Hogwarts in the hardest year. Potter, Black,” he says and Harry’s heart almost jumps out of his chest before he realizes that, again, they’re referring to James. “Be so kind as to share your books with,” he pauses and looks down again, “Jameson and Granger.”

Sirius makes a loud guttural sound. Hermione visibly rolls her eyes and Harry meets James’ eyes, feeling himself pale. Okay, not his best alias ever.

“Please tell me you’re Jameson,” Sirius wheezes out and dumps his book between them. Harry nods mutely and Sirius looks like Christmas came early. “That is wicked, man!”

Harry presses his lips together and opens the book to a random page. Hermione flips it forward to the right one as Flitwick goes on to explain what they’ll be practicing today.

The second half of the lesson is spent in pairs doing exercises. Remus offers to go with Hermione who looks stunted. Harry smirks and gently pushes her forward.

“She’ll be happy to,” he says and then looks around for a partner of his own.

James and Sirius are already paired up, performing and reversing the set of spells they were given, and, if Harry is identifying them correctly, a few others. 

When he turns around Lily is standing in front of him, a big smile on her face. “Wanna partner with me?” she asks and Harry nods mutely. “Great!”

If he thought James and Sirius were good, it’s nothing compared to Lily. Her spellwork is beautiful, there is no other word for it, and she doesn’t miss a single spell by Harry’s count. When it’s his turn to go, he duds his attempt and watches in mortification when Lily flicks away his garbled mess.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“It’s all right, we’re here to learn, right,” Lily assures him and Harry blushes even more when she smiles kindly. “Try again, and think very clearly of the words in your mind. It helps focus.”

Harry nods and tries again, but he can feel her eyes on him and it’s distracting and he wants to do well, for whatever reason, and the blush is covering his entire face by now, he’s sure. His second attempt is even worse. By the fifth time, Lily suggests they switch back and Harry agrees eagerly.

When class is over, he is feeling the humiliation down to his toes and can’t meet anyone’s eyes. From under his lashes he can spot James drape an arm around Lily, kissing her on the nose. Lily is smiling up at him brightly.

“That looked like it hurt,” Sirius says and Harry takes a second before he realizes he’s talking to him.

“What do you mean?” he asks and Sirius nods towards Lily. 

“She wiped the floor with you.”

Harry nods, “She’s really good at Charms.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, “Yeah, sure.”

Harry notices Hermione is still talking to Remus, her face lit up as she enthusiastically discusses something probably really complicated with her future professor. As if sensing his look, she turns around and finds Harry.

“I’m heading to Arithmancy class now but I’ll see you at supper, right?” she asks and Harry nods. 

She smiles and hurries off. Remus looks after her and then back to Harry.

“You don’t take Arithmancy, Harry?” he inquires.

“No, she’s the smart one,” he explains and shuffles his feet a little.

“She’s your Moony,” Sirius exclaims, as if this explains all.

Remus rolls his eyes and looks ready to launch into an explanation but is cut short when Sirius waves him off. “Yeah, yeah, everyone can be smart if you study, we know. I just meant, there is a certain breed of people who actually enjoy it.”

Remus doesn’t look entirely pleased with this explanation but lets it go.

“Want to join me in the library and go over today’s homework?” he asks the group at large. 

Sirius imitates something falling asleep and dying of boredom, but Remus ignores him. Lily looks at James, who shakes his head.

“I’ve got to prepare for practice tonight,” he explains and Lily nods and turns to Remus to agree. “Speaking of which,” James says and turns to Harry to continue a conversation between just the two of them. “D’you play, Harry?”

“What?” Harry asks, although he can guess and his heart flutters just thinking about it.

“'What', he asks,” Sirius says who has picked himself up from his pretend-collapse. He’s sizing Harry up and down and a smile is creeping up on his face.

James grins, “Quidditch, of course!”

“Of course,” Harry mumbles. “Yes, I mean no. I- a little,” he finally admits.

“Aw, don’t be modest, Harry. You look like you’d be a mean player.” James is nodding along to what Sirius is saying. “Too bad you’ve already had tryouts or James would make you join the team. He can sniff out athletic potential from a mile away.”

“Actually, I just got word from Wilkinson he’s not going to be on the team after all and I’m reluctant to bring in Bradley from the reserves. So there’s a spot open if you want to try out, Harry.”

What?

“What?”

Sirius looks like he’s having a hard time deciding between fury at Wilkinson and excitement over Harry trying out.

“Yeah, the strategy is in shambles since he dropped out anyway so if you want to try out you can. We’re having everyone down on the pitch at seven tonight.”

He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t.

“What position?” he queries and butterflies swoop in his stomach when he waits for James’ response.

“Chaser.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a side note, have you guys ever thought about how Harry and Voldemort's wands have twin cores, but that since Phoenixes are incredibly rare, shouldn't way more twin cores exist? And considering they've gone through two wizarding wars, more people should have encountered it? Just some late night thoughts that keep me up at night. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	5. Quidditch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Quidditch is attempted and some explanations are finally given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hello and thank you for every comment, kudo and hit - they make my day <3

Remus follows the group towards the Quidditch pitch after supper. He brought a couple of chicken legs with him because he didn’t have time to finish. Lily left them to go study but Peter and the new girl, Hermione, are coming along, too, to watch the try-outs.

It’s not a huge turnout, Remus notes. Sirius is there, of course, as the other Chaser apart from James, but no other members of the Quidditch team. Barker and Dixon both showed up. And Bradley, Remus sees and almost feels bad for the reserve Chaser. Already picked out second and still trying again. Almost honourable. 

Remus glances at the girl, Hermione, as their little cheering trio is taking their seats in the stands. She’s watching Jameson intently. They were clearly having a silent conversation at supper with a lot of looks and kicks under the table, but no words were said. Remus wonders how long they’ve known each other to be able to talk like that. James and Sirius are the only ones he can think of that are similar, but it’s different even from them.

Down on the pitch they can barely see James gather the small group up and tell them what’s going to happen. Obviously Remus and the others on the stand can’t hear the instructions but he figures they’ll find out soon enough.

Remus vanishes the last of his finished chicken legs just as all six people lift from the ground. He watches as Barker and Jameson pass the practice Quaffle between them as Dixon and Bradley do a semicircle around the pitch. James blows his whistle. 

It’s almost like watching a game in miniature. There’s passing the Quaffle, tricks, swerves and dives. Remus has watched all of James’ matches but still barely understands all the rules and his interest is miniscule at best.

Hermione beside him is watching Jameson like a hawk. Remus suffices with watching her. The odd thing seems to be that whenever Jameson makes a good play, she frowns rather than smiles. He wonders what it means.

Peter is looking intently at the try-outs, too. He’s following the Barker-Jameson duo as they make a play for the middle ring. He laughs when Jameson drops the Quaffle. They can all hear as Barker yells angrily at him across the distance.

They play on for a while and Barker and Jameson get into position to score again, but the same thing happens: Barker passes, Jameson drops it. This time it’s even sillier, because it’s such a perfect lob, easily catchable but Jameson sort of just glides to the side and lets it sail past. He watches it fall, not making any attempt to pick it up.

Remus checks to see how Hermione is reacting. She has a determinedly neutral expression on her face. 

They all flinch when it happens again and Barker screams something foul to Jameson. 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione mutters under her breath.

When it looks like it’s going to happen for a fourth time, Barker screams as he throws, and Jameson actually looks like he attempts to catch it. He moves in a surprisingly graceful arch to reach the Quaffle, then fumbles horrendously, bouncing it up several times in something that looks like a distorted version of juggling, before accidentally lobbing it away from himself.

Remus can’t help a small chuckle escaping and Hermione giggles at his side. Sirius is, however, almost falling off his broom, howling in laughter.

Dixon sweeps in beneath them and catches the Quaffle, passes it to Bradley who makes a go at the goal post. Sirius, who’s acting keeper for these try-outs, doesn’t even bother going for a save, still too busy laughing at Jameson. The Quaffle sails through the ring and James blows the whistle.

Remus watches with some amusement as James reams Sirius out, pointing wildly at Sirius, then the rings and then at Jameson, all the while screaming loudly. Sirius is lying bent back on his broom, laughing.

Eventually, James turns on Jameson and Remus feels bad for him, getting handed the captain’s wrath from just doing a bad try-out. Jameson is taking it well, from what Remus can tell from this distance at least.

James gathers the group on the ground. It appears Bradley got the spot after all. Hermione sighs a breath of relief and stands up. Looking contemplative, Peter follows and last goes Remus.

They meet James, Sirius and Jameson on the ground. Hermione walks up and hugs Jameson who mostly looks embarrassed. James watches them hug and frowns a little.

“Don’t take it too hard, Harry,” he says. Jameson shrugs and Sirius lets out a last snort. “I guess Quidditch can’t be for everyone, huh,” James says but looks Jameson up and down in a mix between disbelief and disappointment.

Jameson looks light he might say something, but Hermione stomps on his foot.

“It’s actually a blessing in disguise, Jameson” Remus offers. “Seventh year is hard enough without having Quidditch practice four times a week.

Jameson looks surprised at his words, then smiles and says, “Call me Harry.”

“I dunno, maybe he’s just not a Chaser,” Peter suggests. He’s still looking unusually serious. “You said you played before, right?”

Harry hesitates, shrugs. “I played Seeker.”

“Ooooh,” James lets out like a moan. “Why didn’t you say?” He looks about ready to rip his own hair out, which would be a shame considering it finally has that windswept look he’s always going for. “Well, we already got a Seeker on the team, but it’s good to know we have a reserve in case he gets knocked out by a Bludger.”

Harry smiles. Hermione frowns.

“It’s too bad,” Sirius says. “It would have been hilarious to have both James on the pitch - imagine all the feints we could have worked out.”

“It’s Harry,” Harry insists.

“Wouldn’t work very well if Harry fell off his broom half the time, though,” James disagrees and then looks apologetically at Harry. “No offense.”

Harry looks a bit pained, but says, “No worries.”

~o~o~o~o~

Back at the castle they gather in the common room. Harry sits down next to Hermione. She’s finishing up their orders to Flourish and Blotts. It feels silly to order the same set of books she already once bought and read, but what choice do they have. 

“How’re feeling?” she asks, sealing up the letter. She puts it in her robes along with the one to the apothecary for refilling their potion supplies. She’ll pass by the owlery tomorrow she decides. “It looked like you had a rough go of it out there.”

“Fine.” Harry looks weary but determined. She waits. He sighs. “Not great. It’s the first time my dad has seen me fly and I deliberately made a fool of myself.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione says. She sympathises with him, she really does. On the tip of her tongue, though, are the several reprimands she wanted to tell him at supper. She forces them down and instead says in a low voice, “I’m sorry but I really think it’s for the best.”

Harry looks away. 

Hermione recognizes this mood and opts for leaving him to it. She pulls out her things to start the essay they got from their arithmancy professor. The curriculum is very similar to her original year so she sets to roughly outline what should be included and then starts writing. The scratching sound from her quill is calming and together with the crackling from the fire, she feels right at home.

Eventually Harry pulls out his wands and starts practicing charms. Hermione would attempt to persuade him to write their make-up paper instead, but he has always been a practical learner, so she leaves him be.

More and more students head up to their dorms. When it’s only the two of them left, she puts away her essay. Harry immediately stops flicking his wand and the little flying glass jar disappears in a puff of shimmery smoke.

For a moment they just stare at each other. In a way she still hasn’t accepted that they’re here. It’s mind-boggling. She doesn’t know where to start.

“Jameson, really?”

Harry rolls his eyes, but Hermione can see his cheeks tinting pink. 

“Shut up,” he mutters and turns away.

“Really? Could you have picked a worse name?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Should I have said my real name, Miss Hermione Granger?” he taunts.

“It’s different! I’m muggleborn!”

Harry scoffs, but it’s definitely a smile playing on his lips. Hermione giggles. Harry looks back at her, and then grins. Soon they’re laughing until they can hardly breathe.

A little while later, Hermione leans back against the cushions and stares into the fire. The tension from the day is slowly bleeding out of her and she inquires about what she has been too afraid to ask.

“How are we here, Harry?”

He doesn’t pretend to not understand what she’s talking about and she’s grateful for that. He swallows and fiddles with his wand. “It’s complicated.”

“Did you use a spell? A potion? No time-turner could have taken us this far back-”

“No, you’re right. It wasn’t a time-turner.” She waits for him to continue. Eventually he does. “D’you remember the Resurrection stone?” She nods mutely. “Well, I threw it away when I was in the Forbidden Forest, right? But the thing is,” he licks his lips. “It sort of… came back.”

Hermione stares. “What does that mean?”

The fiddling with his wand gets more erratic.

“A couple of months after the Battle of Hogwarts I noticed it lying on my office desk. I was terrified someone had found it and had just been lucky they were kind enough to return it rather than use it. But it doesn’t make sense because no one should know what it is or that it belonged to me. I decided to destroy it. Vanished it.”

Here Harry makes a pause and Hermione listens to the stillness of the room, barely able to breathe. 

“And then?”

“And then it came back again.” Harry looks up and stares at her with an intense look she can’t interpret. “Just a couple of weeks later. This time on my kitchen table.”

“That’s impossible!”

Harry huffs as if this is par for the course.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I tried blasting it with a _Reducto_ and vanished the dust that was left. When it showed up on my nightstand the next day, I tried _Fiendfyre_.”

“Harry!” Hermione gasps. “That’s so dangerous!”

“I know. I took precautions. See, there’s this bubble of protective spells you can put around the fire before igniting and only whatever’s inside the bubble will burn.”

Hermione is silently impressed but she’s not going to say that. She doesn’t want to encourage that kind of reckless behaviour. Harry checks her face to see what she’s thinking. She doesn’t know what he sees but he continues.

“Anyway. I thought that was the end of it. Nothing survives _Fiendfyre_ , you know? But a few hours later I felt something warm in my pocket and when I checked it was the blasted stone.”

As if to underline his words, he digs into his robes and pulls out something cupped in his hand. Slowly he raises his fist and reveals the small Resurrection stone in the palm of his hand. As always, she’s struck by how ordinary it looks.

“It’s always on me now. Even if I forget to bring it when I switch robes, it shows up without fault. Every time.”

“You can’t leave it behind,” Hermione murmurs.

“I can’t leave it behind,” Harry confirms, and puts it back into his pocket.

“What about the other Hallows? The Elder wand and your cloak?”

Harry pulls up his sleeve to show her the Elder wand strapped to his forearm. “The cloak just seems to appear when I need it,” Harry informs her calmly, as if this isn’t incredible magic in and of itself.

To demonstrate, Harry pulls his hand through the air as he’s trying to catch a fly but his fingers seem to shimmer a little and between one blink and the next he’s pulling the Invisibility Cloak into existence. Hermione stares at it, unable to form words.

“I have no idea how it works,” Harry admits and stuffs the clock into his robes as well. It bulges slightly so Hermione surmises it doesn’t stop existing just because he no longer uses it. 

“When did you notice?”

Harry shrugs. “After the war it was all such a jumble. Trials and repairs and everything with Ginny. I don’t know that I had a solid coherent thought for months,” he admits. “When I settled into the Auror department and finally got a little time to think the stone had already returned.”

“What about the wand? Didn’t you leave it in Dumbledore’s tomb?” 

Harry quirks a humourless grin. “I forgot,” he says.

Hermione looks incredulously at him. “You what?”

“I quite literally forgot. Both my plans to leave it with Dumbledore and that I had the wand. It just never crossed my mind. If I ever kind of started to remember it slithered away, not unlike a Confundus charm,” Harry explains, and Hermione is just about to ask if he checked for that, but he cuts in before she can. “Yes, I checked. That and a dozen other things. When I decided to give up on trying to get rid of the stone, it got easier to think about.” He shrugs. “I guess it has a different defence mechanism.”

Hermione hums, deep in thought. 

~o~o~o~o~

Up in the dormitory, Peter carefully smuggles the Marauders’ Map out of the pocket of the suitcase James usually keeps it in. He taps it gently with his wand and whispers, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” 

The lines bleed out from his wand tip onto the parchment, spreading until it’s covered in corridors, rooms and hundreds of small dots, of which only very few are moving. With a practiced eye he locates the Gryffindor Common Room. Peter leans down closer to see the miniscule names attached to every dot. There, alone in the common room, he reads “Hermione Granger” and “Harry Jameson”. 

He leans back, staring blankly at the dots. They’re turning into a blotchy web of unrecognizable scribbles and he closes his eyes against an unexpected migraine.

“Mischief managed,” he whispers.

The map never lies. But something is definitely going on.

He slips the map back into James’ robes and goes to bed, still contemplating what it means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pheeew, we're officially at the end of their first day and they finally got a chance to talk about what the heck is really going on. I hope you're not too upset about Harry not making the team, it's all the plan with not making waves and I promise that Harry is more disappointed than you :3


	6. Wands

After the first day they seem to fall into a comfortable routine. It’s strange, Harry thinks, how things can be so different and yet feel exactly the same.

He’s sitting in the Great Hall, sky blue and bright above them. Sirius is stuffing sausages into Peter’s mouth with James loudly cheering on. Remus is finishing an essay and seeing that frown and his shaggy clothes and his hair that already has streaks of grey in it, Harry can absolutely think he will grow up to be the man Harry met and got to know in the 90s.

Lily isn’t there yet. Or possibly she’s skipping breakfast. They’ll see her later in Defence but for now Harry is kind of relieved. He’s beyond happy to see her, to get to know her, but at the same time, it’s hard. Something twinges in his chest every time he looks at her and he can only imagine she thinks he’s weird for always staring.

Hermione is reading the Daily Prophet as usual. Harry doesn’t want to interrupt so he keeps watching Sirius. Peter seems to have reached a breaking point because he lets out a retching sound, chokes a few times and then bends over the floor so half-spit, half-pull out the frankly impressive number of sausages.

“Fourteen!” crows James and high-fives Sirius. “New record!”

Still listening to Peter spitting and coughing, Harry puts down his own piece of sausage, vying to go for some eggs and toast instead. 

“Yeah!” cheers Peter once he’s finished. “I think my jaw got bigger after that hex Murphy cast first day of term. I can actually see the back of my molars in the mirror now if I do this-”

James bends in to inspect, making humming and aahing sounds.

“What ya reading, Granger?” Sirius asks as he grows bored of the game and plants himself next to Hermione. “The Prophet? Nothing but politics in that one these days, eh?”

Hermione doesn’t look up and doesn’t answer. From knowing Sirius, both as an adult and as a teenager, Harry can tell her this is not a good strategy to get rid of him. Sirius leans closer. Hermione raises the paper to block his view. Sirius instead dips beneath her arm, worming his way up right next to her. Hermione jerks violently when she notices and tries to move away but Sirius has grabbed a hold of one side of the newspaper and is reading quickly.

“Diagon Alley Attacked,” Sirius reads and the others stop what they’re doing to listen. “Last night there was an attack on Diagon Alley and several wizards and witches were injured. The Ministry has sent a squad of Aurors to investigate. Minister for Magic, Harold Minchum, has this to say about the incident: ‘It’s a horrendous thing to have happened and we’re doing everything we can to find whoever the perpetrator is’.” Here Sirius pauses to scoff loudly. “‘Whoever’, yeah sure, I wonder who it could be-”

Harry feels all the blood leave his face. It’s happening. It’s all happening already. Of course it is. Attacks. People disappearing. Raids. Secrets and lies.

“Harry,” Hermione says quietly, and he turns to look at her. Her eyes are wide and she’s biting her lip, worriedly. 

“Well, that’s just bollocks,” says James and grabs the newspaper for himself and continues reading. “‘Currently 17 are being treated at Saint Mungos’ Hospital for intensive care and another 39 were briefly administered for minor healing’. Blimey, it must have been a huge raid.”

He looks worried.

“It’s not right,” Sirius exclaims. “Half the Aurors are probably turn-coats and everybody knows it’s You-Know-Who who’s behind all this. They don’t need to investigate anything.”

“Shh!” Peter hushes him and looks around, a terrified expression on his face. “Careful what you say.”

“I don’t care if they hear me,” Sirius says and stands up to shout. “It’s bollocks! They should go arrest them already.”

James pulls him down again before too many heads turn their way. “Shut up, you lunatic. People are scared-”

“I’m not scared!” Sirius protests violently, going to stand again but James keeps him down.

“You should be. You can’t just shout whatever you feel like and not realize who might hear you.”

Here he gives the Slytherin table a significant look, but Sirius doesn’t seem to be reacting the way James wants him to.

“Are you telling me you’re scared, Jamie?” Sirius asks, a mix between a taunt and honest confusion.

“Of course I am! Lily’s parents are muggles. Remus’ a half-blood, and you’re a blood traitor!”

“That’s why we need to fight!” Sirius yells and James glares at him until he shuts up again.

“Yes, I agree. But this, here, shouting isn’t the answer.”

“I agree,” Remus says suddenly, and everyone turns to look at him. He turns a bit red but soldiers on. “We need to be smart. I know you’re both planning on becoming Aurors but honestly, the way the Ministry is growing more and more corrupt, I’m not sure you’ll be able to. They’re getting in everywhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if soon the school is taken.”

Everyone is quiet for a moment as they let that sink in. 

“But with Dumbledore here I’m sure we’re safe” James says after a moment and they all turn to look up at the High Table. 

Harry feels a cold thrill run down his back when he sees that Dumbledore isn’t there.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Sirius says, a small note of hysteria in his voice. “I’m sure he’s just having a bit of a lie-in.”

“He’s not like you, Pads,” Remus says and ignores Sirius’ ‘ _Hey!_ ’. “Besides, he hasn’t been here all week. Didn’t you notice?”

The boys shake their heads but Hermione nods.

“Has he been gone many times since term began?” she asks.

They shrug, not knowing. 

Harry and Hermione exchange a glance that communicates a lot in a very short span of time. Hermione is deathly pale, and Harry can feel his eggs swirling warningly in his stomach. 

“We should go,” Remus says, breaking the moment. “Defence starts in ten minutes.”

They get up to leave. Harry picks up the Daily Prophet and stuffs it in his bag and ends up walking last in the group, still thinking about the attack.

On the way out of the Great Hall he bumps into someone. Harry looks up and thinks Sirius has turned around and walked back but quickly realizes that no, it’s not Sirius. 

Instead, it’s like a different version of him. Same black hair, high cheekbones and aristocratic nose. Dressed in black robes of high quality. But as Harry’s eyes travel across the person’s figure he soon identifies differences. 

While Sirius has good posture, he’s relaxed about it, like he knows he looks good no matter what, and flings himself across objects and people alike, in undignified sprawls. This person is holding themselves stiff and straight. They have also combed their hair back, but Harry can still see the curls coming on behind their ears and down their neck. They have their chin held high and a domineering sneer. Looking down their nose despite being shorter than Harry, a pair of grey eyes meets Harry’s startled ones. 

Harry stares.

This must be Regulus Black.

“Move,” the younger Black brother says haughtily.

Sirius, who before now didn’t notice, turns back at the sound of their voice. His face goes through a whirl of emotions before landing on a sneer. He walks up to Regulus, ruffles his hair, ignoring Regulus’ violent protests, and then moves to drape his arm over Harry’s shoulders.

“Good to see ya, Reg,” he says casually but Harry can feel the tension in his body this close. 

“Sirius,” Regulus bites out.

“A bit late for breakfast,” he observes. “Overslept, did you?”

“Not all of us are sloths,” Regulus says, and his voice is layered in distaste. 

He makes a movement as if to shoulder his way past them but Sirius plants himself and Harry more firmly in his way to block that option. Regulus briefly looks behind himself, apparently contemplating just turning around and leaving.

“Mother would have you wash your mouth with soap for speaking that way to your brother,” Sirius says.

“Mother would commend me for insulting a blood traitor,” Regulus says. Sirius winces but quickly covers the expression with a smirk. Regulus looks like he regrets saying it, but then doubles down. “Now move aside, scum.”

He doesn’t wait for them to react. He stalks forward and, without Harry noticing him getting his wand out, magically catapults Harry and Sirius to either side, violently knocking them to the floor, so he can pass between them. His head is held high and he walks like a king would before his subjects. Harry looks after him, still on the floor. Sirius helps him up.

“Sorry about that, Harry,” Sirius says as he drags him to his feet. “Are you all right?”

Harry nods and dusts off his robes.

“That your brother?” he asks, already knowing.

Sirius grimaces. “That’s my younger brother Regulus. He’s in Slytherin and everything my mother wished I were.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Harry says, despite knowing the futility, having met Walburga Black’s portrait.

“I assure you,” Sirius says.

“Well, parents: who needs ‘em?” Harry tries and Sirius looks at him with a measuring look. Harry shuffles a bit on his feet. “We should get going. We’re late.”

Sirius nods, still looking contemplative. 

They don’t catch up to the others until they reach the classroom and the rest are already seated so they just quietly shuffle inside. Hermione gives him a questioning look and Harry mouths, _Tell you later_. 

Harry doesn’t recognize the teacher, but then he wouldn’t, would he? He looks at the witch: a short, plump lady with blond going on white hair. She is wearing blue robes and when she introduces herself as Hattie Palmer, she shakes Harry and Hermione’s hands with a firm grip.

The lesson proceeds with more non-verbal spells. According to Palmer they’ll be focusing on identifying and countering jinxes and curses when they are sent non-verbally. For a higher grade they’ll have to also counter it non-verbally. Harry is starting to feel as if he really missed more than his due course for the leap-year-turn-drop-out. 

Also, what is this extreme focus on non-verbal magic, he wonders bitterly as he writes down the counter spells they’re expected to learn. James and Sirius are sending yellow and blue sparks between themselves whenever Palmer is turned away, and Harry would mostly ignore them except they’re sometimes directed at him, _and_ , he thinks miserably, non-verbal.

When, for the second half of their double lesson, they’re paired up to practice, Harry hopes fervently to be paired with Hermione. Fate is against him and he finds himself facing James. 

“I guess it’s you against me,” James says, and pushes his glasses up his nose.

Harry nods and pulls out his wand. He’s going to duel his dad. The thought is strangely exhilarating.

Harry is just getting ready when James smirks and sends off a spell so fast Harry can only blink. The spell strikes him and he tumbles backwards. Another spell hits him in the chest and falls on the floor.

“Ooff,” he lets out when he lands. He gapes up at James who is cackling at him. “Warn a guy,” Harry says and gets up, dusting off his robes.

“Your attacker won’t warn you,” Palmer yells across the room and awards Gryffindor a point.

Harry rolls his eyes and tries to send off an _Expelliarmus_ but his wand just dribbles out some pathetic red dust that vanishes before reaching the floor. Harry curses and produces a verbal _Protego_ when James sends another hex his way. He tries whispering his next spell and while that does work and sends James’ wand flying into his waiting hand, it doesn’t count as non-verbal.

“It seems a little more practice is needed there, Mr Jameson,” Palmer notes.

“Yes, Professor,” Harry answers and tries to focus.

“Arghh!” Sirius yells from the other side of the room when Hermione manages to send him to the floor.

“Nicely done, Miss Granger. Two points to Gryffindor.”

Harry looks up to give her a smile. She grins back but then opens her mouth to yell something when Harry is hit in the shoulder with another jinx.

“Never let your attention sway from your opponent,” James crows.

“Don’t gloat, Mr Potter,” Palmer says, in passing, and turning to Harry, “On your feet, Mr Jameson. Focus.”

~o~o~o~o~

It’s brutal. When class is over, Harry takes what remains of his dignity and hobbles out. He has fallen on the floor more times than he can count, and his skin is itching from all the spells James saw fit to throw his way. 

Hermione catches up to him. Miraculously they both have an empty slot in their timetable before lunch, so they head to the common room. Harry has a vague notion of getting some studying in but Hermione marches into a secluded corner and Harry obligingly follows. 

Before Harry can ask what’s going on, Hermione casts a _Muffliato_ around them. Harry raises his eyebrows while studiously ignoring the Marauders who are looking at them oddly. James and Sirius head up to the Boys’ Dormitory, not without giving Harry some disgusting grimaces of encouragement.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Hermione starts, and Harry is about to say that no, she probably doesn’t because even he doesn’t know what he’s thinking. Hermione goes on, “That attack in Diagon Alley, it’s awful.”

Harry feels cold. He all but forgot about the attack, too busy being humiliated in class.

“But we can’t get involved,” Harry intones without any inflection.

Hermione looks at him, suspiciously. “We can’t get involved,” she agrees.

“Yeah,” Harry says, looking at the remaining Marauders. Remus is helping Peter with homework, looking just as patient as Harry remembers him being as a teacher years in the future. Peter is scratching his hair in frustration and then scribbles something on his parchment that makes Remus laugh. “But don’t you think we’ve already changed things? Just by being here?”

Hermione bites her lip, looking worried. “Maybe. But I’m hoping that by keeping a low profile we’ll manage to keep things just about similar enough not to mess things up too much.”

James and Sirius bowl down the stairs with their brooms over their shoulders. They wave to Remus and Peter, glancing in Hermione and Harry’s direction, before heading out through the portrait hole. Supposedly to cram some Quidditch practice in their free period before lunch. Harry yearns to follow. But he’s not even on the team.

He turns back to Hermione to find her following his gaze. She, too, is looking sad. He wonders if she’s thinking about how short a time they have left. 

“Yeah, you’re right. That’s our best bet.”

“What happened before Defence? You and Sirius came in late.”

Harry contemplates what to say. She knows who Regulus is, of course, but Harry hasn’t managed to figure out how he feels about the ex-Death Eater. His bravery was astounding and Harry has always regretted that Sirius never got to find out that his little brother wasn’t a traitor but that in his last moments he was more courageous than a lot of people Harry knows. He doesn’t know what Hermione’s thoughts on the ex-Death Eater are.

“R.A.B,” Harry says, and Hermione’s eyes widen.

“Sirius’ little brother? Oh, of course he goes to school right now. Sixth year… Do you know if he has joined Vo- the dark side yet?”

Harry shakes his head. “Sometime this year, though.”

“We can’t get involved,” Hermione repeats and Harry sighs. “Harry-”

“Yes, I know. Let’s go do our homework,” he says and tries not to sound bitter. “I don’t know why these non-verbal spells are so hard. I’ve been an Auror for years, shouldn’t I know this stuff?”

He expects Hermione to say something snotty like, _That’s what you get for not finishing your last year_ , but she surprises him.

“You’ve been doing non-verbal magic for months, Harry.”

He stares at her. “What?”

She looks equally surprised.

“I thought you knew. I thought you were faking it before.”

Harry blushes. “No.”

Hermione hums, looking contemplative. “Well, I suppose it could be because you’re not using your wand anymore.”

“This _is_ my wand!” he protests but Hermione shakes her head.

“That hasn’t been your wand for a long time. I mean sure, it still has its allegiance to you but you’ve been using the Elder Wand for so long it’s like an extension of your arm. It’s quite brilliant,” Hermione says. “Doesn’t it feel strange not to have it anymore?”

“I still got it,” Harry says, raising his sleeve a little without actually showing the wand strapped to his forearm.

“Maybe that’s the problem then,” Hermione says diplomatically. “Your Holly wand can feel your loyalty is to the Elder Wand so it doesn’t perform the way it should.”

“But I’m still loyal to my Holly wand,” Harry says and means it. “It saved my life on multiple occasions! I restored it from broken in two just so I could keep using it.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Harry pauses. Indeed, why didn’t he?

“I meant to… I think,” he says haltingly, trying to remember. “It just- it didn’t… feel quite right anymore.”

Hermione nods, looking sympathetic. “There you go. Besides, this might be a good thing. No student should be as good at Defence as you are. This will keep suspicions at bay.”

“Aren’t they going to be suspicious of you? You’re good at everything!”

“Exactly,” Hermione says with a cheeky grin. “Although, this year they seem to have a competent Defence teacher. I really wish we had had someone like her during our school years.”

“We had Lupin,” Harry says in defence of the man.

He doesn’t have time to add anything more because Hermione cancels the _Muffliato_ and heads to the comfortable armchairs by the fireplace, pulling up their homework from Defence Against the Dark Arts. Harry resigns himself to his fate and joins her. 

Remus smiles at them when they sit down. He’s working on his own essay now and Peter seems to have given up, mostly fiddling with his quill. 

“I can move if you want to sit here,” Remus offers when Hemione squeezes in next to Harry.

“Oh!” Hermione says, surprised. “No, that’s all right. Harry is mostly skin and bones anyways.”

“Hey!” Harry says, feigning indignation.

Remus chuckles a little but he looks disappointed.


	7. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Here's the next installment, and boy are we almost, nearly, but not really at all, close to the action! Hope you guys are enjoying summer - today's my last day before holidays and I can hardly wait :D  
> Thank you so much for your support, your lovely comments give me life <3  
> Stay safe!

It’s two weeks later and the new students have gone off on their own again. Harry and Hermione, Sirius must admit, have fitted themselves into their lives so well they hardly feel new anymore. Not usually. Only in times like these when they’ve disappeared together, only to show up later, looking serious and worried. 

It’s good though, that they’re gone now, because the Marauders need to talk about the full moon. They took a vote and decided the two newcomers are welcome in their group, in Gryffindor, in their school. That doesn’t include them in their holiest secret, though. The one that could send them straight to Azkaban if the Ministry ever found out there are three unregistered Animagi on the grounds and that they’ve been hanging out with a fully transformed werewolf.

They’re making their way up the spiral staircase when muffled voices are heard coming through the door to their dormitory. Sirius raises a hand to stop the others from walking into him and they all lean in to listen.

“How could we make it worse?” Harry’s voice is saying, obviously frustrated.

“Oh, I don’t know,” says Hermione, sarcastically. “We could lose and everyone we know could die?”

Sirius looks back to the others to check their expressions. James’ eyes are wide and curious. Remus is frowning at his feet and behind him is Peter who Sirius can’t see from his vantage point. He turns back to the door. No more sounds are coming from inside the room.

Sirius, a master eavesdropper, understands what’s about to happen a second before it does. He rights himself and throws the door open with great energy while yelling back to James, “And the Slytherin practically wet himself. Best prank ever!”

The others, quick on their feet, follow his lead and they stream into the dorm. They all stop when they catch sight of Hermione standing just a few feet from the door with her wand raised. Harry’s sitting on Sirius’ bed, obviously waiting for Hermione to check the door until their conversation can resume.

Sirius sees the wand in Hermione's hand and grins. “Gonna hex me, Granger?” he taunts. “In my own bedroom?” He flings himself onto his bed, enjoying Harry’s mad scramble to get out of the way. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”

Hermione puts her wand away, scoffing.

James walks in and sits down on his own bed, pulling out his broomstick, apparently deeming this a good time to do some broom care. Peter crawls into his bed and promptly falls asleep. He has never been good with all-nighters, Sirius knows, and lets him be. He was one brave little rat last night.

“You watch it, Pads. She can hex you just fine if my eyes haven’t been deceiving me in Defence,” James says, carefully snipping a fray twig.

Sirius scoffs. That was a fluke! And that second time, she was absolutely cheating. He doesn’t bother telling the others this. 

Remus, Sirius finally notices, hasn’t left the door frame. He’s picking at his fraying sleeves on his robes, looking between Hermione, who has sat down on Harry’s bed, and Harry, who remains on Sirius’ bed. Sirius watches in mild curiosity as a myriad of emotions seems to battle for expression on his face.

“Hermione,” Remus says and clears his throat. “This is the Boys’ Dormitory.”

Everyone pauses to look up at him and then to Hermione. She seems stumped. She looks at Remus and then to Harry, who shrugs.

“I’m sorry. I can leave if you want?” she offers, a wrinkle on her forehead.

“No!” Remus says, raising his hands. “No, of course not. It’s just, it’s a little bit, um, inappropriate, seeing as you’re a girl and all…”

Hermione’s lips twitch as she attempts to cover her laughter. Sirius can’t see Harry’s expression, seeing as he’s sitting with his back turned to him.

“Well, I couldn’t very well tell him to come to my dorm,” Hermione says.

Remus makes a small strangled sound.

“No, the staircase turns into a slide”, James agrees. Sirius turns to look at him. James, who notices, blushes. “Not that it would be appropriate anyway,” he quickly adds with a stern look at Harry.

“I’m sure,” Sirius drawls. “Terribly inappropriate. Much below your dignity. Tell me, when you took a dump in the pumpkin garden the other month, did you smell your own faeces or just step in it?”

James throws his polish at him. Sirius catches it but drops it when it is followed up by a book and a dirty rag. He yelps and caresses his head that took the brunt of the hit.

“Hey! Don’t kill the messenger!” Sirius yells.

It seems worth it when Harry laughs at him and Hermione gives a look of such scandal even James must chuckle, scratching his head.

“He’s not telling it properly,” he defends himself. When Sirius rears up to indeed tell it properly, James cuts in quickly, “And he shan’t!”

“You really had to be there,” Remus explains, who seems to have relaxed a little.

“I can only assume so,” Hermione sniffs. “By the way, Harry. We should really get going.”

Harry looks over at her and then shrugs and gets up. Almost absentmindedly, it seems, he pats Sirius on the arm. He leaves a Harry-sized hole in the duvet. Sirius rolls over to face Hermione who’s hovering by the door, inadvertently shuffling Remus into the room to take their place.

Sirius, sniffing plot, says, “Why? Where’re you going?”

“Yes, where are you going?” Remus chimes in, remaining stubbornly by the door and looking half-way between deciding on a scolding and asking to come. “It’s already late-”

“We’ve got a meeting with Professor McGonagall about a project we’re doing to make up for missed credits.”

This seems to be news to Harry but he gamely nods and gets his stuff. They leave with little fanfare, their low voices a murmur in the stone stairway that soon turn indistinguishable. Sirius listens to them go down the steps until he can’t hear them anymore. Then he turns to James, who has stopped polishing his broom.

“Suspicious,” Sirius says, testing the water.

“At least we know they’re together now,” Remus says, looking miserable about it. He collapses headfirst onto his bed and groans. “Of course she’s with someone…,” Remus mumbles into the pillow; or at least Sirius thinks that’s what he says but it’s muffled and he can’t be sure.

“Not that part!” Sirius says, impatient. “What are they off doing extra projects for?”

“To make up missed parts,” James says. “They probably haven’t had the same curriculum as we.”

“Oh, James. Jamie, Jamie, Jamsie. How naive you are! It was clearly a cover up! They’re doing something sneaky and they’re not telling us!”

“Maybe,” James says, but he looks unconvinced. “But so are we, so let’s count our lucky leprechauns and get on with planning while we’ve got them out of the room. Remus, stop moaning and go close the door.”

“Tell Sirius to do it,” Remus says and pulls his pillow over his head.

“Sirius, go shut the door,” James says, gamely. Sirius flicks his wand and the door closes. “Lazy,” James tuts and then ducks when Sirius makes his dirty socks attack him with another flick of his wand.

“Says the man ordering other people to do his bidding,” Sirius says.

Peter, who seems to sense a fight coming on, wakes up.

“Have they gone?” he asks, sitting up when James nods. “So, what are we planning?”

“Well, since _some of us_ ,” Sirius says with a glare at James, “have been too preoccupied snogging their girlfriends to put in their due time and effort into planning this moon, it’s going to be all Padfoot this time.”

James, sensing this is going to come out bad for him, shakes his head.

“Ohh,” Peter says in delight. “Are we really doing it this time, then?”

“Doing what?” Remus asks, finally catching on that something’s happening. “What are you planning?”

“Pads, no,” James says, more sternly this time. “We can’t leave the shack. We all agreed it was too dangerous.”

“True,” says Sirius, lightly, as if this is of no concern to him. He relishes the tension in the room. “But then we didn’t have the map.”

“It’s still too dangerous! Besides, how’re you going to read it while you’re in dog form?” James argues. 

“I won’t need to! We’ll read it before, make sure there are no people around when it starts and then one of us leaves quietly through the passage, check it’s clear and come back as animal. It’s foolproof!”

“It’s anything but!” James cries. “Anything could happen in the time between checking, coming to tell us and then going back out. It’s too dangerous!”

Sirius, feeling annoyed now, says sourly, “Well then you come up with a better plan.”

“I can’t, and that’s why we’re not doing it.”

“Agreed,” Remus says, and Sirius groans.

“Work with me, here!”

“No,” James says, and his stubbornness is great except for the times he turns it on Sirius.

“He’s killing himself in that shack and you know it!”

James looks grim.

“ _He_ happens to be sitting right here,” Remus says, angrily. “And _he_ says we’re not doing it because it’s reckless, stupid and would be breaking the trust Dumbledore put in me.”

“He also put you there to suffer it alone every month, ripping yourself to pieces!” Sirius yells and he’s properly angry now. “Excellent way to help someone. Put them in a cage with a monster and lock the door.”

They all flinch when he says monster, and Sirius feels bad, but he also feels vindicated.

“It’s an incredible opportunity for me to be here,” Remus says. “No other man I know of would offer it.”

“You’re dying,” Sirius says. 

“Don’t be dramatic. I’m not dying. And we’re not doing it. I’m vetoing it as is my right by your own rules.”

“Stupid rules,” Sirius mutters.

“We’ll work something out,” James offers, placatingly, and Sirius scoffs.

“Yeah? Like last year?” he says bitterly.

“We’re older now. We’ll think of something,” he assures. 

~o~o~o~o~

“So, what are we really doing?” Harry asks once they’ve crawled out through the portrait hole. “What?” he asks, seeing Hermione casting him a quick glance.

“They need to be alone to plan their full moon adventures,” she says as if this should be obvious, and now that Harry thinks on it, yes, it really should be.

“Oh,” he says, sheepishly. 

He had actually forgotten all about the werewolf thing. Despite seeing Remus’ shabby robes and worn face every day, Harry just sort of let it grow into the picture of Remus and didn’t stop to think about _why_. 

Hermione seems to guess this. She pulls a face and doesn’t call him on it.

“I thought we could go to the library and see if they’ve got anything on unregulated time travel-”

“Hermione,” Harry sighs. “There’s not going to be anything in those shelves that I haven’t already read. Rather, quite a few of them won’t even be written yet.”

Hermione purses her lips in clear disagreement. She has never once believed there isn’t a problem that can’t be solved by starting with reading books on the subject.

“I’d still like to see if there’s anything you missed. Besides,” she quickly continues when she sees Harry gearing up to argue, “ _I_ haven’t read all there is on the subject, so I need to catch up.”

Harry doesn’t have a good argument against this, so he shrugs. Together they walk towards the library in silence. Their earlier argument feels like it’s one breath away from being reignited and Harry’s too wary to get into it again. 

He knows Hermione has a much more pragmatic standpoint: find a way back to their time. But that’s not what Harry wants, and while spending those months researching and experimenting, when he dared to dream it would work, he never once considered just giving up. To abandon the amazing opportunity and instead try to get back to his own time. What would be the point of even going if he was just going to go back the second he arrived? 

He doesn’t say any of this to Hermione. She might hit him if she thought he wasn’t on board with finding a way back.

The Hogwarts Library closes at 8 pm and so the doors are locked when they get there. Hermione doesn’t stop; she just waves her wand and they hear a small snick when the doors are unlocked. Harry can’t help a small smile when Hermione opens the door for him. Beware the thing that stands between her and her research.

They leave the lights off and lock the door after entering, and head back to the section on time travel. Harry, who is not as well versed in the library’s labyrinth-like structure, trustingly follows Hermione as she guides them into the depths of the hall, their wands sending an eerie blue light around them.

When they reach the right section Hermione quickly sets about locating the relevant books, sending them to stack neatly on a table with swishes of her wand. Harry recognizes several of the books; utterly unhelpful if he remembers correctly. Knowing this to be a pointless thing to tell Hermione, he goes about to explore. 

In an adjacent section he finds _History, Old and New_. He goes to _New_ and understands this to mean _recent_. He sees a book that seems to be writing itself. Glancing at the words he realizes it dictating events currently taking place. In another aisle he finds summaries of important historical events, year by year. 

Further down, in a rack that seems to expand endlessly backwards, he finds newspapers. Here he stops. The newest one is _The Daily Prophet_ from today; he recognizes the headlines: two disappearances. Going back, he finds the updates on the attack in Diagon Alley, the Minister for Magic making statements, the Head of the Auror Office promising to catch the perpetrators. 

He has read them all. Since that morning when they read about the attack on Diagon Alley he has made sure to be aware of everything the papers have been writing. He flips back until before he and Hermione arrived, plucks out a good chunk and goes to sit down at the table where Hermione has undoubtedly collected every single piece of writing that even mentions the word _time_ or _travel_ and set to work. 

He’s not wrong. Hermione has so many books and notes spread out on the table that Harry can barely fit his stack of papers onto the table. He considers taking another table, but then it accommodatingly expands until Harry can easily set his things down. Hermione barely glances up at him, immersed in her reading. 

So they spend the evening. Once or twice, Hermione jumps up to go grab another book or set one back with a huff of impatience. He’s fairly sure at least a couple he spots in the high piles belong in the Restricted Section, but he doesn’t bother questioning her about this. Rather he finds himself more and more antsy, reading the old news. 

Disappearances, new legislation, statements that ring false, and suddenly dead stories that have no follow-up. He also notices that several of the journalists seem to disappear after writing a story too closely linked to Voldemort, never to write another article again, related or no. He has little trouble deducing what happened to them.

It’s easier to think about what is happening in the Wizarding world than in dorms in a tower in another part of the castle. Easier to consider the fates of nameless and faceless people than of four faces who he has only known for some weeks but has also, somehow, known his whole life. To consider their remaining years of freedom before the war will take everything from them… is excruciating.

Sometime well past midnight, Hermione gives a great sigh and slams the book in front of her closed. 

“This is pointless,” she states. Harry gives her a look and she huffs, irritably. “Yes, I know you told me. I just thought there would be _something_ in here to give us a clue what to do.”

Harry opts for not responding, and simply collects his piles of newspapers and sends them back to their place in the rack. Hermione seems to realize what he’s been reading for the first time and gets an odd look on her face.

“What?” Harry asks.

“Nothing,” Hermione says quickly, but she still has that strange expression.

“I thought it might be a good idea to be up to date with what has happened,” Harry defends himself, sensing where this is going.

“Yes, long as that is all you’re doing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asks, despite already knowing.

“We can’t interfere,” she says, and Harry is really starting to hate those words.

He gets up and stalks out of the library, not bothering to respond. Hermione catches up, supposedly having sent all the books back to their rightful place. 

When they come back to Gryffindor Tower, the Fat Lady is sleeping. Hermione pokes her awake and tells the disgruntled portrait the password. 

The boys have all gone to bed, so Harry chucks his robes and quickly dives under his sheets. He’s so tired his eyelids feel too heavy. Still, his thoughts are swirling.

He thinks about his dad, who tried to fight the worst dark wizard of his time without a wand to give his mum a chance to get away; of his mum, refusing to stand aside, and giving her life to save him. He thinks of his godfather, wrongfully sent to Azkaban for trusting the wrong person, and of Lupin, who died fighting to give his son a better life. 

If these are to be the last happy years of their lives, he thinks, there is something he can do for them, something that won’t affect the future at all. Perhaps a little bit selfishly, but so what, he thinks defiantly. He wants to spend time with them, and isn’t that what he’s here to do?

Somewhat calmed by having a plan, he settles into a deep, dreamless, sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who really enjoys how lawless Hermione has become? *grins*
> 
> \---  
> It's foolproof, says Sirius when in fact it is, in no way, shape or form, foolproof.  
> \---  
> Yeah, by the way I'm playing fast and loose with the Marauders and their maraudering...


	8. Animagus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry about the delay - I've been away with only my phone and I refuse to publish on it (one never knows what sort of odd formatting will come up). I haven't written a word all week and my notebook is full of ideas I've had at midnight that are aboslutely *brilliant* and must not be forgotten. Usually they end up saying: "James is a mother hen" and yes this is true, but not maybe worth waking up in the middle of the night, scrambling to write it down before I forget. Anyone else do this?
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! (three guesses what it's about :D)
> 
> Your comments are life, so tell me what you think? :)

Harry is starting to regret his endeavour the second he reads the ingredients for becoming an Animagus. Not only is it an incredibly difficult potion but the process is long and so prone to fail he wonders how any wizard has ever managed it. The Mandrake leaf that must be held in his mouth for a month alone seems difficult enough. Add in electrical storms and the coincidence of having clear nights right when needed… The process is so tied up in timing, coincidence and luck it seems nigh impossible.

He vaguely considers asking Hermione for help but he’s still irrationally angry with her so he leaves her be, ignoring her worried looks to the best of his ability. Asking the Marauders is out of the question - they haven’t told Harry about Remus’ condition and talking about becoming an Animagus is bound to make them suspicious. 

Thus, Harry begins his journey to becoming an Animagus, slightly downtrodden yet very determined. He begins by writing out all the steps and ingredients he will need and mapping out a rough timeline. He tries to ignore the voice that sounds suspiciously like Hermione who’s telling him he needs to be more precise or he’ll mess up. He needs to redo it three times as he runs out of space on his first two parchments.

_Step 1: Do your homework in Transfiguration and Potions at least._

He ignores this part. He’s not going to be doing any more studying than he already has in the subject. If he doesn’t know what he needs to know about the subject by now, he doubts he will have time to learn enough for it to make a difference. He checks it off.

_Step 2: Carry a Mandrake leaf in your mouth from full moon to full moon. Find a ‘small crystal phial that receives the pure rays of the moon’, put the leaf inside, and add one of your own hairs._

Harry feels as if this is a sign. Full moon is tonight. He’ll go down to the Greenhouses and check for Mandrake leaves. Surely, Sprout will have a batch growing this year, as every year. He briefly wonders what he will do if it turns out she doesn’t have Mandrakes growing this year, but puts it out of his mind as a problem to work out then.

The crystal phial should be easy enough. He just has to set in another order to the apothecary. He assumes they have crystal phials, and if they don’t, he’s sure he can have them acquire him one for an extra charge. He doesn’t think _finding_ it is important, or at least he hopes not. Buying should do.

He gathers his things and sets off to the Greenhouses. It’s nearing curfew so he pulls the Invisibility Cloak on and treads down, trying to avoid getting too much mud on his trousers.

When he gets there the houses are all dark and empty. Not even an open window. He walks over to the greenhouse they had in his second year, hoping it’ll be the same. With a small flick of his wand and a murmured _“Alohomora”_ he unlocks the door and creeps inside. 

It’s hot and humid in the greenhouse and Harry briefly wishes he could pull the cloak off, or at least pull down the hood, but he refrains. He also refrains from sending lights out from his wand; from underneath the cloak they won’t penetrate the fabric and he can’t risk someone seeing the lights from up at the castle if he sticks his wand out through the folds. He swears under his breath when he walks into a pot. It wobbles but remains standing. 

More carefully he treads forward. He almost jumps a foot into the air when something crunches under his shoes, but it turns out it’s only a dry branch. A lone snail seems to be glaring up at him for interrupting its night snack. Harry carefully steps over it and continues in. It’s not exactly darker further in the greenhouse since it’s made of glass, but the heavier plants with larger leaves and thicker branches creates eerie shadows from the moonlight seeping in.

It’s as he suspected. The rows of Mandrakes are stood by the walls, deceptively silent as they’re planted in large clay pots with dirt up to the brim. He treads closer. His eyes have adjusted so he can easily make out the thick leaf branches. He peers through the glass walls up on the full moon, clearly visible on this cloudless night. _Now or never_ , he thinks and plucks a leaf from one of the plants. 

The branch twitches away from him as he breaks off the leaf, and he looks at the Mandrake curiously. Then he holds up the leaf to the light and regards it for a second. Nothing special about it. Green, thick and silky to the touch. He closes his eyes and puts it in his mouth. Sweet and a little bit acidic, he notes. He positions it against the roof of his mouth and flattens his tongue against it to make sure it stays. It’s going to become irritating quickly, he realizes as he turns to go. Closing the door to the greenhouse behind him, he whispers _Colloportus_ and almost chokes on the leaf as his tongue twists to form the words, dislodging it. He quickly sticks it back to the roof of his mouth and thinks furiously as he stalks back up to the castle. How in Merlin's name did anyone manage this?

The dorm is still empty when he gets back. Of course, the Marauders won’t be back until morning. He’s grateful he doesn’t have to sneak around in here but it doesn’t diminish the worry he feels swirling in his gut at the thought of his dad and his best friends out and about playing tag with a werewolf. One without the Wolfsbane, his anxious mind supplies unhelpfully.

When he lays down in his bed, even the softness and the comforting atmosphere can’t calm him down. It doesn’t help that the stupid Mandrake leaf keeps dislodging. Irritated he points his wand to the leaf and growls a sticking charm at it. The sensation as the leaf magically seals itself to the roof of his mouth is disturbing but at least it doesn’t slip loose. He pulls the draping and forces himself to relax.

When he opens his eyes again, it feels as if no more than a minute has passed. Still sleep-addled he opens his eyes to find out what woke him. He can hear voices behind his bed draping, whispering.

“I’m just saying, it was too close-”

“Oh, shut up, Prongs,” Sirius’ voice is louder and Harry recognizes the exaltation in it. “You were all for it until we ran into that goat.”

“Shhh,” someone shushes over the others.

“Yeah, shh, Pads,” James whispers. “Don’t wanna wake up Harry.”

They all pause to supposedly look at the bed where Harry’s lying, pretending to be asleep, while listening intently. There is some shuffling as they probably change into bedclothes.

“Night, Marauders,” James whispers and the others reply.

Harry thinks he can hear their smiles, and finally he relaxes.

~o~o~o~o~

The morning comes much too quickly, in Sirius’ opinion. Harry, the traitor, shakes them all awake and demands they head down for breakfast. Sirius honestly contemplates just rolling around and going back to sleep but then James gives in and Peter will do whatever James does and so Sirius is left no choice. He groans pitifully. Even the sun seems unwilling to wake up, hiding between clouds with an ominous grey colour.

“Where’s Remus?” Harry asks with a croaky morning voice, eyeing the empty bed. “Did he go down to breakfast already?”

Sirius exchanges a quick glance with James before responding.

“Nah, he didn’t feel well. Went to the infirmary last night.”

“Really?” Harry asks, looking worried. “Is he all right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” James says pulling on his robes.

“He’ll probably be out before supper,” Sirius fills in and ruffles Harry’s hair when he still looks contemplative.

Harry scowls at him and uselessly tries to flatten his hair back down. Almost in opposition it seems to stand up even more wildly than before. Sirius smirks at him but shakes his head when Harry asks what about. He doesn’t pursue the subject of the missing Moony any further, so Sirius counts it as a win.

In a different corner, James is messing up his hair, switching between ruffling with his fingers, pouring copious amounts of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, courtesy of his dad, and pointing his wand and muttering things, which Sirius has always found a dangerous endeavour before morning tea. Sirius does not have enough bravery to mess _his_ hair up. Last time he ended up plucking twigs from his arse for a week as James hexed his broom and then forced the team to practice a gruelling three hours.

When they head down to the common room, they wait for Hermione and Lily. Harry plops down in one of the armchairs, looking sullen. It takes years off his usually much too serious face. Sirius decides his particular cheering techniques are in need and drapes himself horizontally over Harry’s lap, ignoring the squeaks it gets in return. He can’t quite explain the joy he takes in ruffling the feathers of the little James copy.

“So, my young friend-” Sirius begins.

“I’m older than you,” Harry interjects, gruffly.

“What has got your knickers in a twist?” he continues, as if not interrupted. “Stay up too late in the library? Spend too much time _studying_ with your girlfriend?” Sirius winks at him.

Harry pauses from his ready answer and looks down at Sirius. His eyes are bloodshot but ridiculously that just makes his eyes appear sharper. They’re green. Sirius hasn’t noticed before. He’s still staring when Harry clears his throat.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he says, an odd lilt to his voice.

They don’t have time to continue this interesting conversation as Lily and Hermione come down the stairs. Lily walks over directly to James to give him a hug. James kisses her nose and looks like he’s the happiest man alive. Sirius, who can’t watch this kind of disgusting display of affection without getting nauseous, looks up at Harry instead. Interestingly, Harry is watching the interaction with wide eyes and a blush on his cheeks. 

Disgruntled, Sirius jumps up and stalks out of the common room, yelling, “Come on, breakfast waits for no man!”

When they get down to breakfast, Harry sits beside Sirius, which just happens to be opposite Lily. Sirius watches Harry watch the witch. He briefly tries to catch James’ eyes, but he is busy reading the Prophet. Hermione has sat down next to James and leans in to read beside him, trying, and failing, to look unobtrusive. She gives herself away as she catches sight of something interesting and almost climbs into his lap trying to read it.

“Get your own subscription,” James says, pulling the paper above his head when he notices. Sirius sniggers. “Hey!” James says when Hermione persists by pulling on the corner.

“I have!” Hermione answers with a sniff and settles back into her seat, grumpily filling her plate with porridge. “It hasn’t started coming yet. The processing time is truly atrocious-” she says and cuts herself off in what sounds like mid-sentence. “I’ll read it after you, if you’d be so kind,” she tacks on awkwardly.

“Sure, you can have it,” James says cordially and hands it over. “Nothing interesting anyway.” Hermione ignores him and digs into the paper. “Sleep well?” he asks, turning to Lily instead.

“Hm, better than you, I’m guessing,” she says with a smirk.

It’s the usual kind of banter they have after a full moon but then, they usually don’t have an audience. The conversation comes to a stand-still as they all glance at Harry and Hermione. The witch is buried in the paper and doesn’t appear to have noticed. Harry is chewing his toast with a bored expression.

“The prank had better be astounding,” Harry says after he swallows. He quirks an eyebrow at their looks. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your beds were empty when I got back last night. Sirius usually snores like a hippocampus.”

“I do not!” Sirius yells, incredibly offended.

Harry smiles impishly at him and that is just unfair. Sirius throws his sausage at him as revenge, but Harry just catches it and takes a bite.

Hermione still hasn’t done more than glance up to see if the discussion will deteriorate into a food fight, before diving back into the paper. Lily is sipping her second cup of coffee, looking tense. Peter has fallen asleep on the table and snorts when Sirius tries to poke him awake.

James eventually turns to answer Harry.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” he says with a conspiratorial smile and yelps when Lily elbows him sharply.

Breakfast resumes as normal, with the exception of the missing Remus.

~o~o~o~o~

Harry has trouble meeting Professor Sprout’s eyes when they gather in the greenhouse later. She’s lamenting the attack on one of her Mandrakes, telling them it has been crying non-stop all morning. The Marauders are all giving each other curious looks but no one seems to be considering Harry might be the culprit. He touches the leaf stuck to the roof of his mouth tentatively with his tongue. He didn’t know the Mandrakes could even feel if one of their leaves were taken from them. He pushes down the guilt that bubbles up at this thought.

They’re paired up in Herbology to care for Bouncing Bulbs. James and Sirius are obviously together, and Harry and Hermione. Lily is paired with Remus, Harry knows, but since he hasn’t showed up yet, Lily works alone. Harry regards her for a second as she cuts away the unhappy twigs with a look of concentration. He jumps when Sirius plants himself next to Harry, forcing James to look up bewildered and move over.

“How’s it going, Harry?” Sirius asks as if they haven’t walked to the greenhouse together.

Harry waters his pot, or tries to, when Hermione shoves him aside.

“You’ll drown it,” she hisses and almost cuts off his finger when she efficiently prunes their Bulb.

He quickly snatches his fingers away, ignoring Sirius’ sniggers.

“Great,” Harry answers drily, both to Sirius’ question and Hermione’s instructions. 

He’s just about to ask what’s up with him, when their Bulb seems to have grown bored of their caring because it jumps up and almost bowls him over before Hermione gets it back into its pot. Spluttering dirt he gets to his feet, gratefully accepting Sirius’ helpful hand.

“Gotta keep watch on those Bulbs, Harry,” Sirius says, eyes twinkling mirthfully.

“Yeah,” Harry mutters as he dusts himself off.

“Yes,” says James in a loud voice. “Great advice! Now stop flirting and come help me with it.”

Harry watches in amusement as Sirius kicks James shin in retribution. James jumps and drops his pair of shears onto the Bulb which shoots up in agony. The other Bulbs seem to understand a rebellion is underway and starts jumping about, too. Soon the entire greenhouse is in chaos as about fifteen Bulbs are bouncing around in disarray, completely disregarding the thirty or so students running around after them shooting Knockback jinxes and yelling threats to the rowdy batch. 

They leave the Greenhouses with twenty points lost from Gryffindor and laughing so much their stomachs hurt.

On the way to lunch Harry sneaks up to the Owlery and sends off his order to the apothecary with one of the school owls. On the way to the Great Hall, he bumps into Remus, who looks tired and worn. He gives Harry a surprised look but smiles warmly enough.

“Had lunch yet, Harry?” he asks, and Harry shakes his head.

Together they walk the rest of the way to the Great Hall where they’ll meet with the others. Harry carefully doesn’t mention the bags under Remus’ eyes or the way he walks a little stiffly, holding himself carefully. He doesn’t want to bring attention to it; Remus is obviously self-conscious about it as he can barely meet Harry’s eyes. He also doesn’t want any of the Marauders to catch on to the fact that Harry knows about the whole werewolf thing. Better to act oblivious.

Harry regales the stories of the rebellious Bulbs on the way and is gratified when Remus chuckles at how one of the Bulbs had managed to slip out and jump off towards the Forbidden Forest before Sprout caught sight of it and brought it back. She had done so by jumping on top of it and rode it back like a horse, yelling and legging to the applause of the class. A part of Harry is still expecting Remus to turn into his old professor, reprimanding him for disrupting a class or something, but the Remus of today is smiling widely, purely enjoying the pandemonium they created.

“Heya, Moony”, James says when he catches sight of them coming into the Great Hall. “We would have come met you in the Hospital Wing if we’d known they’d let you out already.”

Remus waves this away and gingerly sits down next to Sirius. 

“I didn’t fancy the soup I’m sure Madam Pomfrey would have insisted on,” he says and stacks his plate full of beef and one single potato that he doesn’t touch.

He doesn’t join them for Care for Magical Creatures in the afternoon since he doesn’t take the class and explains he’ll head off to the Greenhouses to talk with Sprout about his missed lesson.

“I’ll come with you,” Lily offers. “And you can have my notes from today. There’s not much from there. We kept working on our Bouncing Bulbs,” she tells him as they set off. “I took care of ours-”

“I’ll see you in Ancient Runes,'' Remus turns around to tell Hermione who looks up in surprise.

“Yeah, see you,” she says and smiles a little awkwardly at him.

Harry pretends to be fully absorbed in his potatoes, carefully not meeting anyone’s eyes. James and Sirius are doing some scuffling. Harry quickly shuffles down the last of his lunch to avoid losing it to an impromptu food fight. Hermione seems to sense this incoming thing and puts a stop to it by asking about their homework. 

~o~o~o~o~

_Step 3: Add a silver teaspoon of dew from a place that neither sunlight nor human feet have touched for a full seven days. Add the chrysalis of a Death’s-head Hawk Moth to the crystal phial. Put ‘this mixture in a quiet, dark place’ and leave it alone until the next electrical storm. Don’t even look at it. Don’t even think about looking at it._

Dew from a place untouched by sunlight or humans. Well, he thinks. The Forbidden Forest is probably as good a place to start as any. He’ll just take his Firebolt and go as far in as possible. It’s forbidden so not many people should be there anyways.

After some brief consideration he admits that being forbidden hasn’t stopped him, Ron and Hermione from going there on multiple occasions. He decides to mark off a place and set up charms to keep people away for a week, just to make sure.

He stops. The chrysalis of the moth is easy enough. Should be readily available in the potions ingredients room. No, it’s the ‘ _not thinking about it’_ that makes him stop. How is he supposed to stop himself thinking about it? He makes a question mark in the margins.

When the others have gone to bed, he collects his Firebolt and the Invisibility Cloak and sneaks out of their dorm. The Fat Lady grumbles when he swings the portrait open and she calls angrily into the air about teenagers and their lack of respect for their elders’ need to sleep. Harry briskly marches down to the Entrance Hall and then walks out into the night. It’s late October and it’s chilly. Hobbling onto his broom while trying to keep both his winter cloak and the Invisibility cloak secured around him proves a bit of a challenge and he ends up going pretty slowly and close to the ground to avoid freezing his fingers off.

Inside the forest it’s pitch-black. He slows down even more to avoid crashing into any of the trees. Only when he can’t see even the smallest of traces of the castle behind him does he pull his Invisibility Cloak off and whispers _Lumos_. Immediately a hundred small black insects and animals scuttle away in fright. He doesn’t mind this; he’s more afraid of the things that aren’t afraid of him.

Not until he has flown a decent distance into the Forbidden Forest does he slow down. He has been in this forest multiple times, but he doesn’t know anyone who knows the paths and secrets, anyone except Hagrid maybe. 

_“Homenum Revelio,”_ he says, and nothing happens. 

He flies down to the ground, putting his broom down and looks around. He’s not sure what he’s after, precisely. The forest looks the same here as anywhere else. He notes a couple of trees and large stones he might be able to recognize. He creates a red string and marks out a large circle. Sufficiently large, he then adds the protective spells. It’s trickier than he expected to create them while standing outside the circle but considering he must be outside them as he pulls them down, he’s not willing to risk it. 

Once he finds them sufficient, he walks away a few paces and tries to walk back. Halfway there he thinks he should probably head back and turns around. He has walked almost three yards before he realizes it’s the spell compelling him. He turns back around and sees his broom still lying abandoned on the ground, probably right outside the periphery of the protective spells. 

_“Accio Firebolt,”_ he says and is relieved when it comes flying into his hand. “That should do it,” he tells the empty air and mounts his broom.

He doesn’t notice the pair of eyes that follows his ascent as he flies away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Such a good spell. Such a shame they don’t use it more frequently. 
> 
> This chapter is a bit of a filler, or transition if you will - next up is "Timelines" and things will pick up after that :D
> 
> Also, I've done a cursory research of Herbology. Sorry for any misses, don't @ me (also don't ask me why I dedicated half this chapter to the greenhouses - I do not choose what I write, no matter what you may think)


	9. Timelines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A decision is made.

Dumbledore is back up at the High Table after another one of his mysterious excursions, Hermione notes as they’re settling in for supper on Sunday evening the same week. James and Sirius are wolfing down their food, eager to get out to their Quidditch practice. 

Remus also wolfs down his food, for actual wolf reasons, Hermione knows. She looks at the young man, hardly more than a boy, looking tense and ill at ease. He doesn’t have quite as many scars marring his face as he will in the future but it’s not free of scars by any measure. 

She follows the line of one particularly gruesome one with her eyes; it stretches across his cheek from his ear to his chin. Sensing her gaze, Lupin - Remus, she corrects herself for the millionth time - looks up. They stare at each other for a second before Hemione flushes and looks down at her plate. What was that look in his eyes, she thinks as her heart beats faster.

“Well, I’m off,” Harry says suddenly and stands, hardly waiting a second before walking off, ignoring the startled looks this earns him.

Hermione quickly tugs her book bag over her shoulder and rushes after him.

“What’s got you in such a hurry?” she asks, trying not to sound suspicious but apparently failing.

“Just some research,” Harry says, avoiding her eyes.

“Into?” she presses and watches as his lips thin. For a moment she thinks he isn’t going to answer at all, then:

“Animagi.”

Oh. She sort of does a mental stumble. Thinking back to how increasingly frustrated he has grown as they read of Voldemort’s attacks, their inability to interfere and how Harry has always been an action oriented kind of person, it makes sense he will focus on something he can actually _do_. 

“Oh, Harry,” she says, feeling overwhelmingly fond and relieved at the same time. Harry hunches his shoulders and looks uncomfortable, as he always does in situations where emotions are expressed. “That’s good. That’s really good.”

Harry doesn’t respond but he looks a little bit less tense, so Hermione counts it as a win.

“Is that why you’ve been speaking like you’ve got a cold all day?” she asks, realization dawning on her. “You already started!”

Harry blushes.

“It’s the bloody Mandrake leaf. I tried a sticking charm but it’s still… _there_ , all the time,” he complains, a little annoyed and making a consternating expression she recognizes from the last couple of days.

Hermione contemplates this for a moment before a certain spell comes to mind. 

“Here, let me try something.”

She points her wand at him and murmurs a spell to make skin replenish. A very odd expression crosses Harry’s face and she wonders if she didn’t quite hit it right. Harry swallows a few times, grimaces, and smacks his lips.

“Weird,” he says, then looks up at her. “Thanks, Hermione. You’re a life-saver, as usual.”

“More like, saviour from minor discomfort and complain, but you’re welcome,” she says, but she feels warm; they’re no longer fighting.

She decides she can spend the evening doing her own research just when there is a bright blue light glowing into existence. The light takes the shape of a Phoenix Patronus which explains to them in Dumbledore’s voice that he would like to speak to them, and would they like some liquorice wands? Harry and Hermione exchange a startled look. 

Harry doesn’t seem any more informed of this than Hermione, so they quickly change directions and head towards the Headmaster’s Tower. The gargoyle guarding his rooms looks the same as ever. Tentatively, Harry offers, “Liquorice wands,” and it steps aside with only a briefly suspicious look. They step onto the rotating staircase and slowly ascend to Dumbledore’s office.

The man himself is standing by his many silver instruments looking fully entranced by whatever they’re telling him. He doesn’t acknowledge them as they come in, so they stand patiently to wait. Eventually, Harry clears his throat and says, “Professor?” to which Dumbledore raises his head and looks up at them with a pleasant smile.

“Ah, I’m so glad you could come.”

As if they wouldn’t have, Hermione thinks but says nothing.

“You wanted to see us?” Harry enquires, more politely, Hermione thinks, than he normally does.

“Indeed, Mr Jameson!” Dumbledore says, and smoothly offers them to sit down by his desk while he whirls around the room. “Have some lemon drops if you’d like.”

Harry takes a couple but Hermione refrains. It’s not good to eat sweets between meals. She refrains from saying any of this out of politeness. She still shoots Harry a look, which he ignores.

“Professor Dumbledore, is something the matter?” Hermione asks once they’ve sat down and Dumbledore keeps on shuffling around his instruments behind them.

“Yes, Miss Granger, I’m afraid so,” Dumbledore says and finally sinks into his chair behind his desk, facing them with a solemn expression. “The parents of one of my students have been attacked-” Hermione gasps, but Dumbledore speaks on. “She of course was sent to Saint Mungos to be with them. I just got word that she didn’t make it there.”

Hermione feels herself go pale. Dumbledore looks at them with imploring eyes and says nothing more. Harry is sitting very still beside her, but she can practically feel his fury.

“Who was the student?” Hermione asks.

“Marlene McKinnon,” Dumbledore tells them, calmly. His eyes are blazing, however. “As you can imagine, this is a very upsetting piece of news. Professor McGonagall is notifying the other Gryffindor students at this moment.”

Hermione feels unable to move. She looks at Harry, who seems equally shocked. Dumbledore is still gazing at them, apparently measuring their reactions. Hermione tries to fold in her fear and confusion but her lower lip is quivering.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Professor,” she says and quickly bows her head when Dumbledore turns to regard her. 

“It’s truly a horrible thing. I can see you’re both upset. Were you close to Miss McKinnon?”

“Not really,” Harry mutters. “It’s still awful.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore agrees. “I know I told both of you to go about your daily business and try to blend in,” he continues, and Hermione looks up, a sense of unease coming over her. “And I still suggest you do that, but I must ask you,” he says slowly and regards them each carefully over the top of his half-moon spectacles, “if there’s anything you can tell me about this?” he pauses and Hermione squirms under his heavy gaze. “So that I can better protect my students.”

Hermione swallows. He can’t be asking them this. He, arguably the greatest wizard of all time, knows the dangers of messing with time. He can’t be asking this or it would suggest that he is being careless, not just by asking this, but also about the situation with Harry and her being here in the first place. If he hasn’t been taking it seriously, it’s worse than she thought. 

She flinches when Harry speaks.

“No.” Dumbledore raises his eyebrows, the beginning of relief edging his tense expression, but Harry continues. “We can’t tell you.”

“Mr Jameson,” Dumbledore says, a new quality to his voice. “The safety of my students-”

“I’m very well aware of the things taking place in the Wizarding world right now, and the danger it puts every single witch and wizard in, not to mention muggles, and I’m still telling you that we can’t answer any of your questions. I’m sorry.”

Dumbledore stands up. For a brief moment Hermione wonders if they’ve crossed a line, if he’s going to throw them out, but the man sighs.

“I feared you would say as much. I’m sorry for dragging you in here. You should be off. Lots of studying to do, I assume.”

He shuffles them out of his office and she and Harry let him, oddly discomfited about this turn of events. They look back on the gargoyle but it’s still, showing no more signs of life than an actual stone statue. Harry gives Hermione a wide-eyed look.

“The McKinnons...” Hermione begins but Harry shushes her.

Together they march up to the seventh floor. Harry walks past the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy three times and then opens the door to the Room of Requirement when it materializes. Hermione walks in after him.

Harry must have wished for somewhere to talk because the room is remarkably similar to their common room, even with a roaring fireplace.

“Such a shame about this room,” Hermione says.

She walks to sit down in one of the comfortable armchairs. It’s just as squishy as the ones in the Gryffindor Tower.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, giving the walls a slightly guarded look. “Hermione, what are we going to do? The McKinnons-” he says, falling into the armchair opposite Hermione.

“-didn’t disappear this early in our time,” Hermione finishes for him and nods seriously. “I know. I don’t know-” she says, wringing her hands. “I don’t know why this is happening. What changed…”

“It can’t be just from us showing up!” Harry argues, voice full of frustration and anger. “We haven’t done anything!”

“I know, but what else could be the reason?” she says, trying to smother the whine of worry that wants to escape. “Time is such a sensitive thing, Harry. We don’t know what we’ve changed just by taking one step into this castle. Maybe McKinnon mentioned something in her letters home, maybe her parents spoke about it where someone could overhear. It’s impossible to say.”

They stare forlornly into the fire. It crackles merrily and still Hermione feels very cold. She can practically hear what Harry is thinking and she doesn’t want him to say it, because for the first time since arriving she no longer has a good defence.

Because it’s Harry, it doesn’t take very long before he does say it.

“We can’t stand by, watching from the side-lines.”

“Harry-” she begins, frustration crawling up her chest.

“No, Hermione, hear me out,” Harry interrupts. “If time is already this messed up just from us being here, not actively doing anything, just existing in this castle, then what does it matter? Things are going to hell; we know they are. Why can’t we change things?”

“Because we don’t know what’s going to happen if we do!” Hermione practically screams, rising from her seat. “You said it yourself, things are already changing and we’re not even trying to make things different. What do you think is going to happen if we change things that we know are going to play major parts in the future? How long before things are so unrecognizable we won’t be able to do anything because the future is already so different as to render our knowledge of it useless?”

“Some things won’t change,” Harry argues hotly, also standing. “We know of events that already happened, they will have happened here too, and that’s all we really need to-”

“To what?” Hermione explodes. “Hunt horcruxes? Kill Voldemort before anyone even knows he has them?”

“Yes.”

“Harry, that’s insane!” Hermione yells.

“Is it? We’ve done it before,” Harry tells her, infuriatingly calm. “With a lot less information than we do now,” he tacks on.

Hermione wails in frustration, stalking around the small room. The walls expand to accommodate her. 

“I knew you were going to say that!” she yells. “I knew the second we landed here that you were going to get involved!”

“And what of it?” Harry yells back, walking after her. “We could save so many people! Don’t you want to-”

“Don’t you dare turn this into a game of morals with me!” she snarls, and he backs down with a contrite expression. “This is so much bigger than that. We’re talking about changing history. We have no idea what is going to happen if we start mucking with time. We don’t even know if there is a present for us to return to. We might not even exist anymore!”

Harry remains silent now. Hermione is too angry to be grateful; she keeps stalking around the room. She thinks about Dumbledore who allowed them to remain in the castle, who insisted they go to classes and who didn’t even call to speak to them again until now, only to demand information he should know they can’t divulge.

“We’ve already messed it up by being here,” Harry tells her, and she glowers at him. He raises his hands in apology. “And if we did that just by being here, how do you expect us to remain without damaging time further?”

Hermione hates that he has a point. She knows he’s hiding something and it’s infuriating that he won’t tell her, or even admit it.

“We don’t know what will happen-”

“But something is going to happen even if we don’t do anything,” he interrupts, and she grits her teeth. “Things are already changing, and we don’t know if it’s for better or worse. Why shouldn’t we try to balance the scales a little?”

“We’re talking in circles,” she says tiredly.

Harry says nothing. He stands still as she mulls it over. She goes to pick at the fire, looking in at the flames licking the wood, burning away.

“We’ve already lost the chance of removing ourselves from the equation,” she says quietly as she pokes the firewood. Harry hums but doesn’t add anything. “Dumbledore is too afraid of what’ll happen to the school and his students, he’s not thinking clearly.” Harry sits down beside her. “Things are changing. McKinnon shouldn’t have been taken.” Harry puts a hand on her back. “We can’t not get involved.”

She turns to look at Harry. He’s lucky he’s not smiling, she thinks. He looks sombre, green eyes sparkling in a familiar, determined way.

“We’re hunting horcruxes,” he says.

“We’re hunting horcruxes,” she says, defeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS! We’re finally at the turning point! What do you think???


	10. Hogsmeade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A not-date is had and some other things are taken care of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I just wanna say THANK YOU to all the lovely comments! It's been amazing to read your excitement for when our heroes are really beginning their journey :D

“Hey, Hermione, wait up!” James calls to Hermione.

It’s Sunday, a day before Hallowe’en, and usually a day reserved for Quidditch practice. Hermione can’t fathom what the Quidditch obsessed boy could want with her, but she slows down and waits for him to catch up. He smiles, a smile so similar to Harry’s, she thinks, and yet so different.

“Thanks,” he pants and puts a hand on her arm. “Hermione, I need to ask you something.”

“Yes?” Hermione asks, giving the hand on her arm a quick look.

“You’re a girl,” he says, and Hermione raises an eyebrow. How is it that every boy she knows has come to this conclusion as if it’s some great revelation? James sees her expression and quickly continues. “A- and you’re friends with Lily.”

“Well,” Hermione says. She’s not sure she would really count Lily as one of her friends, rather than a housemate, or girlfriend of a friend’s friend, or future mother of a friend. Come to think of it, she should maybe make a more concentrated effort to befriend Lily. “Sure.”

James looks relieved.

“Great, yeah, and you know about Marlene,” he says, pushing their conversation forward. “They were pretty close friends and Lily’s really upset about it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t know McKinnon well, but I can imagine it’s tough, not knowing what has happened to her.”

James nods, “Yes, and I thought maybe you could talk to her.”

“What?”

James scratches the back of his head and looks flustered.

“Well, see, you’re a girl…”

“As we’ve established.”

“-and so’s Lily, and I thought you could talk to her, you know, girl to girl.”

“Why don’t you talk to her?”

James flounders. Hermione considers him, a twitch in the corner of her mouth threatening to break into a smile. She fights it down.

“But, _girl to girl!_ ” James says with emphasis, waving aimlessly with his hand. At what, Hermione’s not sure.

“You’re her boyfriend,” Hermione says and James blushes scarlet. “She trusts you. I’m sure she would a hundred times rather speak to you than to some girl she hardly knows.”

James looks uncertain about this, but he nods, nonetheless. 

“Hey, Hermione,” he says before he turns to go. “You’re all right.”

Hermione grins at him, “I know.”

As she watches him leave, she wonders about boys and their emotional development. She, Harry and Ron were always busy with other things such as defeating dragons and hunting evil wizards. There was never much time to think about romance and partners.

Harry was the worst off of them all, of course. Always caught up in one evil plot or another. Ginny, tough and growing up fast to catch up, was exactly what he needed at the time, but not what could be sustained in the long run.

Thinking back, she herself was lucky to find Ron in that whole mess called growing up. A lump forms in her throat thinking of that freckled face and those blue eyes. Not the time, she tells herself sternly. 

~o~o~o~o~

Hallowe’en is a strange experience. It’s no longer the celebration for the defeat of the Dark Lord, or the miraculous survival of the Boy-Who-Lived. It’s just a normal holiday with a normal feast following a normal day of classes. Harry can’t even mourn his parents; they’re sitting across from him, feeding each other sweets in what he supposes should be a sickening manner. He can’t stop staring, though.

He jerks when Sirius clears his throat next to him. Harry didn’t even notice when he sat down.

“All right, you can stop being disgusting now, thank you,” he says to the couple and flings a pepper imp on them when they don’t stop immediately. 

Harry glowers at him. Sirius holds up his hands in surrender with an attempt at looking innocent. When Harry turns to look up at the Head Table, he catches a sight of movement in his periphery and turns around and quickly catches the cockroach cluster Sirius threw at him. They both pause to stare at the thing in Harry’s hand, Sirius’ eyebrows high on his forehead.

“Nice reflexes,” he says, sounding vaguely impressed. 

Harry stuffs the sweet in his mouth and turns away from him quickly. He would rather not discuss his reflexes, one way or another. He carefully doesn’t check to see if James noticed anything. 

Then they’re interrupted by the ghosts putting on a show of gliding formation, an event made undignified by Peeves, the poltergeist, making fake haunting noises through his cupped hands. The other occupants at the table are laughing at the cacophonous performance and even Hermione can’t stop a small smile.

In his usual manner, Harry stuffs his stomach full of everything he can eat. Sirius makes a comment about still not knowing where he keeps it all. The choir, which Harry didn’t know existed before now, puts on a beautiful performance and Dumbledore holds a speech about unity and strength of character. 

It’s longer than the ones he will hold in the future, Harry notes, but he’s full from good food and friends and doesn’t really follow the doubtlessly carefully chosen words. Hermione kicks him once to stop him from falling asleep. Sirius leans over to whisper in his ear and Harry shivers as small puffs of air hit his skin.

“He’s a brilliant man, but he sure can go on, huh?”

It takes Harry a moment to realize he’s expected to answer. He nods belatedly. Then, feeling it’s an inadequate answer, clears his throat.

“He’d have a better time saying ‘Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment and Tweak’, leaving everyone to ponder what it might mean.”

Sirius stares at him, mouth agape, before bursting into laughter. It’s loud and several people turn around to stare at them, upset. It’s apparently not a point in Dumbledore’s speech where laughing is appropriate. Harry tries for a contrite expression, but he feels ridiculously happy to have made Sirius laugh. Mentioned person doesn’t appear bothered, though. He’s still grinning.

“Who’s the oddment?” he says, in not quite as low a voice as before.

Harry winks, and pleasure wells in his chest when Sirius smiles back at him. As if they’re in on something together. Hermione’s kick under the table doesn’t hurt as bad as it could have, staring into Sirius’ mercurial eyes.

When the feast eventually ends, Harry is so tired his eyes are drooping. He half expects someone to scream or throw a hex or for the ground to open beneath his feet, but nothing happens. He sinks down between his sheets, feeling a loopy smile spread wide across his face. An event-free Hallowe’en at Hogwarts, who’d have thought, he thinks and floats away into dreamland.

~o~o~o~o~

The rest of the week is full of excitement about the upcoming Hogsmeade visit. James is taking Lily because he’s a traitor. Sirius considers asking Hermione just to mess with Remus, but he looks so upset when Sirius teases him about it, he decides he doesn’t have the heart for it.

“Won’t we all be going together?” Harry asks when Sirius brings it up at breakfast on the day. 

He seems distracted, deep in thought and probably not over the bowl of cereal he almost has his nose buried in. Hermione nods in agreement and Peter shrugs.

“Sounds good to me,” Remus says and smiles widely.

“You really lucked out there, huh?” Sirius says to Remus as they make their way up to the Gryffindor Tower to get their winter cloaks.

“Shut up,” Remus says, but he’s still smiling.

James and Lily dispatch from the group as soon as they’re signed out by Professor McGonagall, who gives the transfer students a weary look before letting them off. Harry watches the couple trudge off hand-in-hand with a longing expression, and Sirius is almost starting to feel a bit of unease.

“Hey, Harry,” he says and slings an arm around Harry’s shoulder and guides him a little away from the others. Harry looks up at him in question. “You know Lily’s dating James, right? Like, they’re soulmates and love each other on a disgustingly deep level?”

Harry smiles and looks so happy for a moment, and Sirius doesn't know what to do with the little kick in his chest. Then Harry seems to catch on to the question and looks confused. He has both eyebrows raised, then looks over to Lily and James who’re stopping every other minute to giggle at something or share a lingering kiss before they disappear from their line of sight.

“You don’t say?” Harry asks, like a little shit. 

He clearly knows, and Sirius fumbles a little, not sure how to continue. He clears his throat.

“So maybe stop looking at her like you wanna sweep her off her feet and snog her silly, yeah?”

Harry comes to an abrupt halt.

“What?”

“You know,” Sirius explains, now a bit flustered. “You’re always looking at her with this really dopey expression, and I guess she’s pretty and all, but it’s starting to get creepy. Don’t wanna become a Snivellus.”

Harry is looking so uncomfortable, hunching in on himself and leaning away from Sirius.

“It’s really not like that,” he mumbles to the ground. “I’m not... into her,” he says, words looking physically painful to get out.

“Whatever you say, Harry,” Sirius says and pats his back, happy he got it out of the way.

Harry grips his arm in an iron-tight clutch, though, bringing Sirius back to him. His face is pale.

“I’m not interested in Lily,” he enunciates his words carefully.

Sirius stares at him for a second. Something dawns on him, and he grins.

“Okay,” he says, feeling happier than before.

“Really!” Harry ensures, still pulling on his arm.

“Yeah, I believe you,” Sirius says, now almost laughing. “Not into Lily, I get it.”

He dances out of the way as Harry jumps after him, trying to hit him. They rejoin the rest of the group like this, Sirius giggling madly and Harry looking frustrated and flustered.

~o~o~o~o~

When they get to the village, Remus offers to take Hermione to the bookshop to check out. The others groan at this but Hermione lights up.

“I’d love to!” she says, and Remus feels his heart flutter. “I need to update my books on Arithmancy; the ones I got aren’t right at all.”

They leave Sirius, Peter and Harry and walk off to Tomes and Scrolls after promising to meet up at Three Broomsticks later. Remus very carefully ignores the jeers Sirius sends after them.

The shop isn’t empty but there’s nowhere near as many people as say, Honeydukes will be. He gently guides Hermione around the shop, showing her the best treasure troves he has found during his time here. Hermione looks attentive and genuinely interested in what he has to say.

“This is the one I got for my O.W.L. in Arithmancy,” he says pointing to his fifth year book. “Obviously you need the one for seventh year but if I remember correctly it has really good illustrations.”

Hermione picks up the 7th year book by the same author, leafing through it. He goes on to explain the pros and cons of either set but decides to shut up when she hums distractedly. Instead he goes to pick out a new novel. The one he ordered by owl post last week should have arrived.

It’s another hour until they leave the shop, each with a heavy bag hanging from their arms. He offers to take it from her, but she shakes her head.

“It’s all right; I put a featherlight charm on it but thank you for offering.”

Remus feels stupid, and charms his own bag. They walk towards the other shops more central in the small village and feeling slightly desperate for their not-really-a-date not to end, he scrambles to come up with something to say.

“Want to check out Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop before we meet up with the others?”

Hermione checks the time and frowns.

“I’m not sure there’s time. They others might already be waiting for us at the ‘Sticks,” she says, seamlessly picking up the nickname for the pub.

Remus shrugs. They head to the Three Broomsticks. The others haven’t arrived yet, so Remus orders two butterbeers and sets one in front of Hermione before sitting down with one himself.

“Best butterbeer there is,” he says and takes a deep pull, savouring the taste. Hermione agrees and sips the beer and licks the foam from her lips. Remus tries not to stare. “So,” he says, clearing his throat. “How long have you known Harry?” he asks and immediately wants to kick himself. Sure, remind her of the boyfriend on their not-date, that’s the way to win her over.

“Oh,” she says and smiles happily. “Since forever, it feels like.” Her mind seems to drift off somewhere and Remus desperately wants to pull her back to the present.

“You’re very close,” he offers, hitting himself on the inside.

“Yes,” she agrees. “I would trust him with my life. In fact, he has saved it on multiple occasions.” Her lips pull up as if in a secret joke. 

“That sounds intense.” Remus wants to die. “Is that how you got toge-”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence because Hermione catches sight of the others and calls to them, excitedly waving them over. When they come and join them, Sirius tells them they visited Honeydukes and Zonko’s and the Owlery and every other shop it sounds like. They each have multiple bags filled with sweets and materials for pranks.

“Did you get the su- school supplies?” Hermione inquires with an odd quirk to her voice.

Harry nods and proceeds to show her an entirely restocked set of potions supplies. Hermione looks pleased and then tells the others about her and Remus’ finds. They chat and drink and laugh in a relaxed manner until James and Lily show up to join them. Remus can’t help but notice how Harry once again is looking at Lily with big dopey eyes and he grits his teeth.

“There, your birthday present,” James says and drops a big package in front of Sirius who whoops and rips the paper apart in seconds.

The cheer turns into a gasp and then he almost starts crying.

“How did you know?” he says, voice wobbling.

It’s a _Make your own dungbomb_ experimentation set, equipped with over 100 different smells and components.

“It’s from all of us,” James explains. “And the stupid delivery owl got lost somewhere in Wales or we would have given it to you on your actual birthday.”

“Thank you, guys,” Sirius says, hugging the box tightly to his chest. “It’s exactly what I wanted.”

“We know,” James snorts. “You are not subtle.”

The group laughs and Sirius huffs, but he’s still smiling widely. Remus expects there will be many foul smells in the dorm and more than one explosion at some point, but looking at his smiling friend, he thinks it’s worth it.

On the way back to school it’s almost dark and they’re all starving. Remus gently pulls on Hermione to slow down and join him.

“What is it, Remus?” she asks, worriedly, her brown eyes wide and earnest.

“I just-” he tries, and he really doesn’t want to say this, but he can’t in good faith keep silent. “I was just thinking about you,” he grits out, “and Harry,” he tags on when she looks surprised.

“What about me and Harry?”

“He’s looking rather a lot at Lily lately, have you noticed?” he says and begs whoever’s listening that she will understand. 

She’s silent for a long moment.

“He’s not interested in Lily,” she settles on and he admires her faith in him at the same time as he wants to force her to see what’s going on. “She just reminds him of someone.”

“But aren’t you worried that he’s looking at some other girl?” he says anyway and is utterly baffled when Hermione snorts.

“I’m not worried,” she says. He gapes at her. When she notices, she apparently can’t hold in her laughter. “I’m really not worried. It’s sweet?” she almost asks, “of you to tell me, but Harry can do whatever he wants. We’re not together.”

Remus feels as if he can walk on air. The pit in his stomach dissolves and he grins wildly at her.

“Really?” he asks, with much too much air.

“Really,” she assures him and then laughs again when she sees his face. 

He doesn’t care if she’s laughing at him. She’s single.

~o~o~o~o~

Harry and Hermione meet later outside the Room of Requirement. It’s well past midnight and all other students and teachers have gone to bed. Harry checks the map one more time to make sure.

“Are we really sure about this?” Hermione asks and Harry can hear the worry in her voice. It’s a valid concern and he does his best to sound assured when he answers.

“I’ve done it before. And we agreed it’s better than the alternative.”

He lets the sentence end there as they both consider what the alternative is. They only know of two things that can destroy a horcrux and one of them is the venom of a basilisk that in this time is very much alive and residing in the Chamber of Secrets.

“It’s just,” Hermione goes on, “ _Fiendfyre_ is such volatile magic and if the protective charms break for even a second it could set the whole school on fire.”

Harry is fairly confident his protective charms won’t fail, but she is right. It’s an unnecessary risk. Back when he did the destroying (and failing to destroy) the Resurrection Stone, he was using the Elder Wand and while he intends to use it for this excursion, too, he doesn’t feel as sure. Having two wands has proven to be… odd. He glances at her. 

“Maybe…” he ventures, and she snaps her head to look at him. “... we should take it off Hogwarts grounds?”

They stare at each other. It will provide an entirely different set of challenges for them. Crossing the perimeters of the school undetected is pretty much unheard of. Yet, it still might be worth it. _Best_ worst-case scenario is they lose the Room of Requirement and that in itself is a loss to the school and its students they rather not risk. Worst worst-case scenario, they set the school on indestructible fire and hundreds of lives are lost.

In unison they nod.

Harry paces the corridor three times, wishing for a place to hide things. When the door materializes, they quickly march in. As ever, it’s disorienting how large the room is and how utterly stuffed with things. They carefully begin treading their way inwards, looking for the bust they know will carry the lost Diadem of Ravenclaw.

Harry can sense it almost before he sees it. The dark magic emanating from it is palpable. He calls for Hermione who makes her way to him. When he meets her eyes, she looks very frightened.

“Will you do the honours?” he asks, jokingly but it comes out dry-mouthed and scratchy.

Hermione nods and conjures a basket. Harry switches to the Elder Wand and then carefully walks over to the diadem, Hermione close on his heels. He gingerly picks the diadem up, flinching when he feels the pure _evil_ emanating from it. He quickly drops it in the basket Hermione holds up and feels a little bit better when she snaps the lid close. Hermione shudders.

“I thought I had been building it up in my head, but it really is terrible, isn’t it?” she says.

Harry nods, grimly. They walk out of the room again, faster than when they came in.

~o~o~o~o~

They decide on not leaving the grounds. Instead they create a large wooden raft and set out on the Black Lake. Harry sets about creating the bubble that will encase the _Fiendfyre_ , keeping the basket inside it. 

They notice immediately when the horcrux insides becomes aware of the danger. A sense of despair shoots over them and Harry almost gives up then and there. How silly of them to think they can hunt down the horcruxes just because they know where they will be in the future. How stupid to think they won’t be noticed by the great Dumbledore in their endeavours. Why should they attempt any of it when they already won the war in the future? They were more likely to screw things up than manage to save anyone.

“Harry,” Hermione says, a whine in her voice. “Keep casting!”

Harry looks up at her, utterly desolate. She’s pale and shivering. Her hands are gripping the raft with fingers like claws. She’s staring at the basket like it’s showing her the end of the world.

But, if Hermione says to keep casting, Harry will. He finishes the protective bubble and then, with trembling hands shouts the incantation for _Fiendfyre_. Fire slithers from his wand into the bubble and then erupts into a large dragon like figure, swallowing all space inside. It divides into two and the enormous figures crash against the walls of the bubble, screaming, noise in no way lessened by the charms. Hermione holds her hands to her ears. 

Harry’s hand is shaking as he keeps his wand pointed at the bubble. It’s expanding and he sweats as he tries to keep it compact. Through the blazing he can hardly see when the dragons swallow the basket but there is no question about it when the fire catches the horcrux. Dark smoke billows out of the diadem, mixing with the fire and the two forces slam against each other in fury. For a heart-stopping moment Harry thinks the horcrux is going to win, but then the smoke wails at an ear-splitting volume and explodes. The fire keeps on crashing against the walls of the bubble and then finally, finally, it simmers down. 

Harry is sweating gallons as he lowers his wand. He catches Hermione’s eyes and they stare at each other, fearfully.

“That was-” he says and then the world explodes.

Harry is slammed into the freezing Black Lake when the last vestiges of the _Fiendfyre_ pulses out in a shockwave of heat. The water is a shock to his system and he almost chokes when his instinct is to gasp. Above him the world has turned red and stares at it in horror. Then it disappears. He swims to the surface and sees nothing at all in the pitch-black darkness.

“Hermione?!” he calls out and relief floods him when he hears her coughing from a little bit away. “Hermione!” he calls again and swims in the direction of the sound.

He catches up to her and they cling to each other in shock and fear, treading water and shivering. The raft has disappeared, probably destroyed by the fire. They look around for any signs of the bubble but it’s completely dark and the fire must have died. With stiff arms and legs they swim to the shore and crawl up on the sand.

Harry is shaking so much he can hardly aim his wand as he points to Hermione and himself. He's relieved when he doesn’t have to do the incantation, but the wand understands him and sends warm air, drying their clothes.

“Thank you,” Hermione says, voice small.

“Hermione, are you all right?” he asks and she nods.

“What happened?” she asks.

Harry shakes his head.

“I don’t know. That didn’t happen when I destroyed the stone.”

They look out on the lake but there is no evidence of the dark magic being destroyed and almost killing them. Only still, black water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know why but I just love writing lovey-dovey Lily and James. It just seems they deserve some good, happy times spent with each other.  
> Oh, and right, the horcrux hunting is really taking off now! *grins*


	11. A bad idea

“She’s single,” Remus tells the others without managing to contain his smile.

Sirius, splayed on his bed, head tipped over the side while sending small feathery projectiles in a circle above Peter’s head, snorts.

“Or she’s just not dating Harry,” he says and Remus frowns.

Peter looks at the feather bombs above his head and swallows nervously. He doesn’t understand how they can be so focused on the love lives of those two transfer students when they should be concerned about the secrets they are keeping. He didn’t miss how they snuck out after the Hogsmeade trip and how Harry didn’t come back until the middle of the night, smelling of smoke and lake water. Even now, he thinks, they’ve gone off on their own, spewing some lies about an extra project.

He can’t say he’s not happy they’re gone. So often they’re imposing on the Marauders and this is one of the few times they’re all together and none of the outsiders are here to disturb them. And still, they’re talking about them! He tries not to feel too miffed about it.

“Well, it’s pretty much the same thing, isn’t it?” Remus answers, and then thinks about it and adds, “Isn't it? I mean, who would she even be dating? They’ve only been here a month.”

“And she doesn’t know a single person outside of Hogwarts, obviously,” Sirius drawls, and finally sends the feathery bombs off to annoy James instead.

“Knock it off!” James says, head buried in a Transfiguration essay.

“Do you think she does?” Remus asks, worriedly. “She never speaks about anyone else…”

Peter shrugs, not caring to be involved in the discussion. 

“Nah,” Sirius takes mercy on him. “Probably not. You go get her, Moony.”

Remus smiles.

~o~o~o~o~

When Harry goes to collect his dew untouched by sunlight and human feet, he ends up zooming around the Forbidden Forest for more than two hours on his Firebolt before admitting to himself he might have made a miscalculation.

Feeling stupid and angry he goes to mark out a new spot for his dew, calculating he will have just enough time to ensure the dew will be untouched, and then makes sure to mark the spot with a rock that will light up at his command. He makes the spot a little less protected, forgoing the _Notice-Me-Not_ to avoid the same mistake twice.

On the way back he notices something on the ground. He flies lower and sees the remnants of the red string he used to mark off his first dew grounds. Following the string and dismantling the charms he set up as he goes, he finally finds the spot. Or at least he thinks it’s the spot; he recognizes the shape of a rock and one bent tree. Different from how he remembers it, is the horrendous smell, though. He pinches his nose and flies closer, scanning the ground and trees.

When he finds it, it’s not small. A nest of some sort, with large rocks pulled together and several long tree trunks cracked by what seems like brute force, stacked making a rudimentary windbreak.

He’s just about to subtly leave and fly back to school when a low groan interrupts the silence of the forest. Then something dark and tremendously big moves inside the nest. Harry doesn’t have time to do anything before a large forest troll drags itself out into the open. It’s pale-green and with a beard strangely reminiscent of moss growing on its face. It yells when it catches sight of Harry and lifts the club it’s holding in its enormous hand and swings at Harry. He ascends higher until the troll can’t reach him.

The troll yells again, growing angry, and it echoes out across the forest, loud enough to make Harry worry about someone hearing them. His fears are confirmed when he hears the thundering of a large horde of something moving in the distance. The troll hasn’t heard it yet and is still brandishing his club which Harry now recognizes as the bone of something large that he doesn’t want to contemplate.

When the centaurs come galloping, bows raised and arrows aimed at the troll, Harry can’t decide between relief and fear. He thinks he recognizes Firenze and Bane but it’s hard to tell as they’re moving so fast and close together. 

The troll seems to catch on a bit slowly but once he sees the horde coming at him, he swings his bone club, sending one of the centaurs to the ground with a sickening _thud_. The arrows fired by the centaurs connect with the thick skin of the troll and while many just fall off, not penetrating the thick pale-green hide of the troll, some do and it seems to annoy the troll even further. It screams and slams the bone in the ground, barely missing one of the centaurs who scuttles away on his hooves. 

When the troll physically grips one of the centaurs around their throat and half their torso and slams them into a tree trunk, Harry brings out his wand. He sends a cutting jinx at the troll and frowns when all it does is slice a light cut into its skin, rather like a papercut. It seems to distract the troll though, and as it raises its head to look for Harry, the centaurs make their move.

With arrows and hooves, they go to attack. Harry winces as their hard hooves connect with the troll’s legs and waist, sickening cracks echoing through the forest. The troll yells in pain and drops its club, bending down to protect itself. The centaurs then have access to its upper body and head. The troll yells and moans when they kick his shoulders and chest. Finally, it seems the troll understands it must leave, lumbering to its feat and stumbling away as fast as it can with its arms covering its head protectively.

Harry sighs in relief and then jumps when he finds a dozen arrows pointed at him. He raises his arms.

“Leave this forest!” Magorian yells, who Harry can now recognize by his long, dark hair and authoritative voice. “Trespasser!” he yells, pulling the string on his bow back further.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says. “I was just setting up an area for collecting dew,” he explains and wonders if it sounds as stupid to the centaurs as he feels saying it.

“We know of your wizarding traps,” Magorian yells, front hoof stomping hard in the ground. The sound is echoed by several more around him. “It’s what brought the forest troll in the first place.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Harry explains.

“This forest is forbidden for the students of the school!”

“I know,” Harry hastily explains. “I didn’t mean to trouble you.”

“And yet you have! Now take your magic and go and never return!”

Harry debates telling them of his new trap. He decides he will deal with it when the time comes. He waves apologetically at Magorian and his horde, and flies away.

~o~o~o~o~

Sirius is doing a spectacular job of not listening to James as he attempts to coordinate the team’s practice before their match against Hufflepuff. Instead he’s doing loops with increasingly daring drops. Harry is sitting in the stands along with Hermione, Peter and Remus. He appears to be following the practice with eager eyes.

“Concentrate!” James screams at him when the Quaffle whooshes by him.

Sirius turns around to see it get caught by Bradley, who gives him a snotty look in reply to Sirius’ apologetic shrug.

“The match is in three days!” Jordan shouts as she zooms past, looking like she would rather use her bat on his head than the Bludger.

“Sorry!” Sirius yells, not feeling sorry at all when he glances at Harry and sees him laughing.

“I will kick you off the bloody team!” James threatens him, and Sirius grins.

“You wouldn’t dare; there’s not a single Chaser good enough to beat the Slytherin line-up this year if you lose me!”

“Maybe I’d prefer it to see you mess up our chances by treating it like it’s your personal playtime!”

Practice resumes after that although everyone is a bit tense. Sirius actually makes an attempt at following James’ instructions, even though he thinks they’re redundant against Hufflepuff and they’d do a better job at surprising the Slytherins in their match in May.

~o~o~o~o~

Remus is watching the practice, too, although the majority of his concentration lies with gauging Hermione’s reaction. Harry is laughing at Sirius’ antics. Hermione seems split between frowning at Harry and looking worriedly at Sirius. Remus thinks she would do better not worrying about the guy who willingly puts himself upside down on a broom fifty feet in the air.

“How can you just laugh?” Hermione asks finally when it looks like James might actually hex Sirius if he doesn’t quit it. “He’s not taking the practice seriously.”

Remus glances out at the pitch and sees Sirius dodge the Quaffle as James grabs a bat from Wallagher and with a hard smack sends the leather ball his way. Wallagher quickly takes the bat back, looking irritated.

“Eh,” Harry says with a smile and shrug. “He’s just having fun. Besides, they’re well prepared for the match, don’t you think?”

Hermione opens her mouth to argue and pauses to look out at the players again, following Sirius as he swoops between the Beaters. He’s almost hit by a stray Bludger but whoops cheerfully as it sails a scant inch from his face. As soon as he’s out of harm’s way, he looks over to their stand and smiles. It grates on Remus’ nerves.

“Would you really allow that sort of horseplay if he was on your team?” Hermione asks, finally.

Harry looks surprised, then contemplative. 

“No, probably not. I’d throw him off the pitch until he got seri-, er, started concentrating. It’d be good practice for the team to work with a missing player. You never know when you’re gonna end up one man short.”

Hermione hmphs at this. Remus listens to this conversation with interest. 

Over an hour later, of which it has been raining steadily for twenty minutes, and after they’ve endured rather foul language from James, the captain finally calls it to a halt. His voice is hoarse, and he sounds only mildly positive when he tells them to take a rest and get ready for the match. 

Sirius wastes no time and flies over to the stands. 

“What d’you think?” he asks Harry who rolls his eyes.

“Could be better,” he says, sounding remarkably unimpressed for someone who has been laughing and cheering for a good portion of the practice.

“Oi!” Sirius yells, indignant. “You take that back!”

“Only when you manage to make a pass without interception,” Harry quips, and starts for the stairs.

“Hey, I was just mucking about,” Sirius defends himself, and follows Harry.

“Oh, I could tell,” Harry replies. “I just don’t think the last practice before a match is the time for it.”

Sirius looks as if this is utter Graphorn crap and is ready to tell him so, but then an odd expression crosses his face and he pauses. 

“I’ll teach you, if you want. Quidditch, I mean,” he says when Harry doesn’t answer. Hermione snorts loudly. Remus looks at her curiously, but she only shakes her head.

“That’s okay. Thanks, Sirius,” Harry says and disappears down the stands.

Remus watches Sirius absorb this. Then he holds his breath as Sirius whirls around to Hermione. 

“What about you, witch prodigy? Fancy a ride on my broom?”

He quickly has to duck and flees down to the changing rooms on his broom when Hermione casually flings three hexes in quick succession after him.

~o~o~o~o~

It’s been almost three weeks since their disastrous destroying of the diadem horcrux. They have discussed backwards and forwards for hours about their continued plan. They still only have _Fiendfyre_ and basilisk venom as the sure-fire ways to destroy the horcruxes and, as Hermione also keeps pointing out, it’s an unnecessary risk to wake a sleeping basilisk. Harry agrees with her. Which leaves them here, with another bad alternative, which is to keep using _Fiendfyre_. Which is a bad idea.

“This feels like a bad idea,” Hermione tells him for at least the twelfth time.

Harry ignores her. 

They’re camped out in the Room of Requirement. Spread out between them are scrolls of parchment, notebooks, books Harry is pretty sure Hermione conveniently forgot to return from their first horcrux hunt, and several miniature horcruxes. Harry eyes the little doll version of himself, determinedly put in the “finished” pile along with the diadem.

In the “to do” pile, in a discouragingly higher number, is the locket, the diary, the ring and the cup. Harry is holding the miniature snake of Nagini in his hands.

“It’s not created yet,” Hermione says and takes the snake from him and places it in the “finished” pile.

Harry huffs.

“Shouldn’t we have a third pile for ‘not yet’, or something?” he asks, and Hermione gives him a stern look.

“If all goes well there won’t be a sixth or seventh one,” she says primly, and Harry wonders if Hermione is secretly an optimist. She probably is, he decides and wonders how that came about. Then, thinking back, he wonders if she always has been. “Now, I know we decided to leave the locket for now, seeing as we don’t know where it is until at least 1979, and the cup and diary until we’ve got the others so as to not raise suspicion, but are we really sure we should go for the ring next?” She consults one of her notebooks without looking at Harry. “I’m just thinking it’s bound to be protected by lots of dark magic.”

“As opposed to the Malfoy Manor and Gringotts?” Harry asks, although he, too, is feeling worried. 

“At least we know about Gringotts, and the Malfoys live at the manor; it can’t be too horrible.”

She’s got a point. He only knows about the curse that Dumbledore encountered because he put the ring on. That’s not to say there aren’t multiple more traps and curses waiting for them that Dumbledore managed to dismantle and never bothered to tell Harry about. He thinks about the locket and shudders.

“Just because the family lives there doesn’t mean there won’t be dark magic protecting against intruders, though.”

Hermione hums, frowning.

“I suppose the Shack is our best bet. We’ll just have to be really careful,” she finally says. “We should probably do it at the full moon,” Hermione continues and ignores Harry’s cough. “It’s when the others will be busy with their own thing.”

Harry traces the odd extra layer of skin he has over the Mandrake leaf in his mouth, and wonders if he should take it out before leaving for horcrux hunting, or after.

“Before, probably,” says Hermione, as if reading his mind, or maybe he’s just really obvious. “We don’t know if we’ll make it back before sunrise and I imagine you’re sick of having that stuck to your palate and don’t fancy having to do it all over again.”

Harry can only agree, but he’s starting to wonder if he’s doing it all for naught. The second they decided on hunting horcruxes everything else in life took second place. Just like last time. After all, how can anything else be important when weighted against defeating evil? How can anything even get close?

Then he thinks about Sirius fooling around on his broom, trying to make the others laugh. He thinks about James lovingly kissing the top of Lily’s head, and about Remus’ smile when Hermione asked him to partner up in Charms.

It’s worth it, he decides. He will make time. He will have room in his life to live this time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative summary for this chapter was: A troll? In my forest? It’s more likely than you’d think. Sorry about the misdirect, but it really couldn’t be that easy, could it? :P  
> This is another chapter that's more of a segway to what's coming next, so bear with me. Next up is "Temptation".


	12. Temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to start by saying THANK YOU for all your lovely comments! It's been a shit week and every kind word has put a smile on my face. I appreciate every single one of you for taking your time and letting me know what you think and like about this story. I'm super excited about the upcoming parts - things are really starting to heat up now!

_Step 4: While waiting for the storm, you must place your wand tip over your heart every sunrise and sundown and speak the following incantation: ‘Amato Animo Animato Animagus’. There will come a time when, with the touch of the wand-tip to the chest, a second heartbeat may be sensed. Keep going and wait for that storm._

On Friday November 25th Harry sticks the saliva-soaked Mandrake leaf into the crystal phial. It’s the strangest sensation when the skin protecting the leaf melts away and suddenly it’s as if he’s missing something, as opposed to the feeling of having something constantly a little bit _off_ and in the way. 

Hermione, who’s overlooking the proceedings with a watchful eye, proceeds to stick a freshly stolen Mandrake leaf in her mouth. She makes a surprised face at the taste and then points her wands at herself. After a little wand work, she grimaces and says to Harry:

“I see what you mean…”

They have, after careful consideration, come to the conclusion that Hermione will join him in his attempt to become an Animagus.

“I’ve always been fascinated by the magic involved,” Hermione told him. “It’s transfiguration on a whole new level that changes the physiology of the human body on a structural level. I’ve just never had the time to pursue it.”

Harry thinks it says a lot about Hermione that she considers seven N.E.W.T.s and horcrux hunting a less stressful and time-consuming endeavour than her work at the Ministry. He doesn’t bother questioning her about this.

He pulls a strand of hair from his head and drops it into the phial, along with his newly acquired dew, carefully letting the moonlight hit the crystal as he does so.

He flew through the Forbidden Forest under his Invisibility Cloak this time and collected the dew from his hiding spot. No trolls or centaurs there this time, he was relieved to find. Still, the dew was harder to collect than expected. He kept on his broom to avoid touching the ground and siphoned up the water, drop by drop, with his wand and collected it in a small glass phial. Enough for two, even though Hermione’s dose would be kept in the phial for another month at least. 

The last to go in is the chrysalis of a Death’s-head Hawk Moth which he stuffs through the narrow bottleneck of the phial with his fingers, careful not to crush it.

Harry seals the phial containing his Animagus potion and hands it over to Hermione. They head up to the Room of Requirement under the Invisibility Cloak. She puts the potion in a locker which accommodatingly appears in the wall. He shuts the locker and together they watch it melt into the wall. Then he turns around and faces the wand Hermione points in his face. She looks worried so Harry smiles reassuringly at her.

“There’s no one else I trust more with this.”

“It’s still incredibly risky,” she says, but obligingly waves her wand. “Obliviate.”

Harry blinks. They’re in the Gryffindor Common Room, he thinks at first. The fireplace is lit and crackling pleasantly; the armchairs look squishy and inviting. Then he notes the lack of staircases leading up to their dormitories. Ah, so the Room of Requirement. Hermione is stuffing her wand back into her robes, watching Harry warily.

“How do you feel?” she asks.

“Fine,” he answers automatically. “What are we doing here?”

“It’s the 25th and the Marauders are out playing with a werewolf,” she says, and Harry notes a small smile twitching on her lips. “And we’re going horcrux hunting.”

They walk under Harry’s Invisibility Cloak, shuffling close together to avoid having their feet showing. It becomes increasingly difficult as they reach the entrance to the castle and have to tackle the bumpy ground. Harry is properly relieved when they cross the perimeter to the school grounds. He pulls the cloak off and stuffs it in his robes. Hermione pulls out his Firebolt from her purple, beaded handbag that has made a welcome reappearance in her belongings. Harry takes it from her and together they mount it. Hermione folds her arms around his waist in a death-grip as they rise from the ground.

“You’ve faced werewolves and Death Eaters and dragons, and still you fear brooms,” Harry muses and yelps when she squeezes his stomach.

“It’s not the broom,” she snaps. “It’s the height! On a highly unprotected means of transport.”

Harry wisely refrains from suggesting they take a flying car next time, knowing it will only give him another reprimand. Despite having almost fallen off, and literally fallen off, his broom on more than one occasion, he still finds it the absolute best of all transport methods.

He can’t help the big smile that spreads across his face as they ascend higher and higher into the air until they’re covered by the clouds. Hermione tenses even further and he thinks he can hear her muttering some rune rhymes to distract herself.

They have a solid two hours flight at a good speed to get to Little Hangleton, Yorkshire. They’ve agreed that Apparition, as a transport regulated by the Ministry, is too dangerous. At the speed they’re currently going, though, they won’t reach the little village until morning, if that.

“I’m gonna speed up now,” he tells Hermione and ignores her tiny moan.

He leans forward on the broom and rejoices in the wind against his face as his trusty Firebolt obligingly gains speed. He predicts he will have bruises all around his waist from Hermione’s grip but to her credit, she says nothing.

An hour into their trip even Harry is starting to grow wary. The clouds have thoroughly soaked them, and his fingers are numb from gripping the broom shaft. Hermione hasn’t let up even a little although he wonders if she can even feel her own arms anymore. He slows down a little. Hermione jerks.

“We can’t be there yet!” she says and Harry wonders if she’s silently counting the seconds.

“No,” he agrees. “I just thought you might want a break?”

Hermione doesn’t say anything in response but when he starts descending, she relaxes incrementally. As they land Harry has to pry her fingers off and then catch her as she stumbles on stiff legs.

“Are you all right?” he asks as she sits down on a fallen over tree trunk.

She nods mutely. Harry watches her for a moment and then leaves her alone to calm down. He busies himself drying their robes and then casts a warming charm and an impervious charm on them, wondering why he didn’t think to do so earlier.

A few minutes go by and Harry looks up at the moon, thinking about his father and godfather, running around and having a good time with their friends. Perhaps soon he will be able to join them.

Hermione stands up and walks to stand next to him.

“In a few months Damocles Belby is going to invent the wolfsbane potion and Remus’ life is going to improve dramatically.”

“Is he going to get it during school?”

“Isn’t he?”

Harry shrugs. From what he understands, it’s a complicated potion and if it’s only now being invented, he’s not sure Dumbledore or Madam Pomfrey will feel safe giving it to Remus, being in its infancy of real use. Harry knows from what Lupin told him that he couldn’t afford it before he came back to Hogwarts to teach.

When they resume their journey to Little Hangleton, it’s warmer and dryer and Hermione is still gripping his waist as if her life depends on it. Getting closer to Yorkshire, Harry pulls out his wand and casts _Point-Me_ , letting the wand rest in his hand as he follows the spinning directions.

The house, when they find it in the woods outside the little village, is little more than a decrepit shack, falling apart in places. They dismount and Harry uses the time while Hermione recovers to look around. It’s the same as Harry remembers it from looking in Dumbledore’s Pensieve. Still almost hidden by the trees, nettles doing its best to swallow it from the ground up and moss slowly covering the walls. The structure doesn’t look sound but considering it’s fairly drowning in magic, Harry is sure that despite what other resistance they will find in the form of traps and hexes, the building will not collapse on them.

“Can you feel that?” Hermione asks when she’s ready and stands next to him. “It’s almost like you can taste it.”

“Evil,” Harry agrees.

He pulls his wand out and starts walking towards the shack. Hermione follows on his heel, also drawing her wand. She casts _Lumos_ and Harry is thankful; the moon is shadowed by the tall trees and clouds have appeared in the sky, turning the night almost pitch black. As they reach the door, Harry slows down.

“What is it?” Hermione asks, also coming to a halt beside him.

Harry swallows. There’s something inside. Of course, he knows what’s in there, but the pulsing from somewhere on the other side of those walls is syncing up with his heartbeat. He’s suddenly reminded that the ring they’re here to collect isn’t just a horcrux but also one of the Deathly Hallows.

“Nothing,” he mutters and pushes the door open, ignoring the dead snake nailed to it.

Inside is completely dark and the smell hits them in the face. The sweet nauseating stench of decomposition and mould almost makes Harry gag. He can hear Hermione gasping next to him, but he can’t really see her. The light from her wand seems to be swallowed up by the unnatural darkness. Harry lights his own wand and he’s relieved when it flares bright.

It’s filthy inside. Putrid food and rusty pots littering the rotting floorboards. They carefully traverse the rooms, waiting at each corner, tensing at every sound, for something to attack them. 

When they’re fairly certain nothing will jump out at them, they head into the living room. Harry’s not sure why but he feels this is the place Voldemort would hide the ring. He hands his wand to Hermione; they both startle when the light dims to a barely visible glow on the tip. 

“Huh,” Harry says. 

Hermione quirks her lips.

“I guess it recognizes I’m not its master.”

Harry gets to his knees and feels around on the floor, Hermione holding both wands out to light the area for him. Close to the fireplace that has collapsed in on itself, with dusty bricks cluttering the area, Harry feels a slight sag in the wood under his searching fingertips. Gingerly he pulls at the closest floorboard and grimaces when the wood compresses under his fingers. Grasping at the sides of it, it withers under his fingers and he curses as his grip becomes smooth and uncooperative. He eventually gets his nails under the board and ever so slowly manage to pull it up. The wood squelches as he pulls it loose and tosses it to the side. There’s no scuttling of small animals moving in fright, not a single woodlouse scampering away. Harry spots a dead spider, curled up on its back, all eight legs wound around its body.

There’s no doubt they’ve found the place. In the hollow underneath the floor they see the golden box revealed. Harry and Hermione regard it without breathing. They know it’s cursed, but Harry thinks the reason they haven’t been attacked so far is because they haven’t used any magic on the house itself. It doesn’t recognize them as a threat. Yet.

Harry pulls out his dragonhide gloves he uses for Herbology and Care for Magical Creatures, and puts them on. Still hesitating, he looks at Hermione. Her eyes are wide as saucers. Gritting his teeth, he slowly closes his hands around the box and waits. Nothing happens. Breathing a sigh of relief, he lifts it out of the hollow and rises to his feet. Almost thinking it’s too easy, he quickly makes it to the door and step out, Hermione right behind him. Coming from the shack, the forest outside is almost bright in comparison. He breathes in the clear air in deep gulps, feeling as if he hasn’t had fresh air in his lungs for months.

“That went better than expected,” Hermione says, echoing his thoughts. “Do you think we should destroy it here?”

“We’ll barely have time to make it back to Scotland as it is. I think we’ll have to bring it with us.”

They stop to consider this and the logistics. The box is starting to grow hot in Harry's hand, a thick smell of burnt leather emanating from it.

“I don’t think we can touch the box without bringing the curse upon us, and I don’t think we can put it somewhere without it corrupting everything around it,” says Hermione.

“We definitely can’t open it without having the curse on the _ring_ on us,” Harry adds.

Harry is suddenly hit with a worrying thought. What if the ring isn’t even in the box? What if it’s somewhere else? They can’t be sure Voldemort hasn’t moved it around since putting it here. Maybe the box is just a decoy, or there are more boxes hidden in the house.

“What is it?” Hermione asks, seeing his expression.

“I think we have to open it here,” he says and licks his dry lips. “To be sure we got the right thing.”

Hermione frowns. 

“You said it was in a golden box underneath the floorboards, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t you think it’s odd that we didn’t encounter more resistance to taking it out?”

Hermione looks worried and finally nods.

“All right. Let’s open it.”

Now that she has agreed, Harry is filled with apprehension. He doesn’t want to open the box. He sets it down on the ground anyway and takes his wand back from Hermione. He has no doubt it will open with Parseltongue going by the small serpent engraved on the front. He moves his head a little to make the snake look more lifelike, imagining it slithering, moving its tail.

“ _Open_ ,” he tells the snake on the box, and a hissing comes out of his mouth.

A little snick of a sound tells him it worked and then the box swings open. The unease Harry felt earlier returns tenfold. There’s no little eye, no voice, and no smoke. He leans forward to look into the box and sees the ring lying there, innocuous and benign. All part of its allure, Harry knows. He turns to look at Hermione and sees she’s leaning forward, too, an almost eager look on her face.

“Harry,” she whispers.

With growing horror, he sees her lift her hand, not the one with a wand in it, not the one with intent to attack or to protect herself from the evil object, but her unprotected left hand, and reach towards the ring.

“Hermione, stop!” he yells but she appears to be in a daze. He catches her hand attempting to drag it away. He’s shocked when she swiftly turns and shoves him back with incredible force. He falls to the ground, dropping his wand. Desperate, not knowing if she can even hear him, he calls out again, “Don’t touch it!”

“It’s all right, Harry,” she mumbles in a low voice and keeps reaching for the ring.

Harry looks desperately around himself, searching for his wand. Hermione is humming a low tune, moving closer to the cursed ring. With no other choice, Harry picks up his wand, fumbling it as he holds it the wrong way, before raising it pointed at her and yells, “ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ”

Her body locks itself into a statue-like figure. Feet unable to balance without moving, she wobbles on the unsteady ground. Slowly, she starts tipping forward, completely unable to move, right over the open box. Panicked, Harry throws himself forward to grab her, swinging her stiff body to shift its momentum. He stumbles under the weight when it shifts to fall over him instead but, thankfully, keeps her from falling straight onto the horcrux. 

He gently sets her down, looking into her wide eyes with a ‘ _sorry’_ mouthed at her. He turns back to the cursed ring, suddenly feeling a lot more charitable towards Dumbledore who came here alone and was faced with his greatest desire along with the tempting curse.

He sets up the protective bubble, encasing the ring and box both, not caring to find out what happens if _he_ were to touch the ring. When it’s properly encased, he takes the broom and casts a hovering charm on Hermione and walks her away from the shack. 

He walks half a mile before setting her down and erecting protection spells around her. He doesn’t dare cancel his curse for risk of her attacking him. Hovering, he leaves her with the broom and her wand, before jogging back to the shack. He wants nothing more than for this to be over.

The _Fiendfyre_ , when he casts it into the bubble, is as furious as ever. It ignites and roars and splits and throws itself at the walls of the bubble, much the same as last time. When the box disintegrates, however, a low rumble is heard behind him and he jumps around, terrified the horcrux has somehow got loose. What he finds instead is the shack, crumbling. The roof collapses, bringing the walls with it as the shack disintegrates into a pile of wood and rocks. The _Fiendfyre_ is still roaring and Harry turns back to the bubble just in time to see the fire bite into the ring. The bloodcurdling scream it lets out makes him flinch and he hopes no one lives close enough to hear it.

He watches to see if the bubble will implode like it did on the Black Lake, but it seems to remain contained. The fire dies out in the bubble which shrinks in pace with the diminishing fire. When nothing remains in the bubble, no bigger than a fingernail at this point, it shrinks to nothing and disappears. Harry breathes a sigh of relief.

He finds Hermione where he left her, still locked in the full body-bind curse behind a wall of protection which he quickly dismantles. He undoes the curse and helps her to her feet. She sways a little and then looks wildly at Harry.

“Harry!” she exclaims. “The horcrux! There was a curse on it! I don’t know wh- what happened; I couldn’t stop m- myself. What did you do?”

“Destroyed it,” Harry says and then relays how he killed the horcrux. Hermione listens with wide eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she says when he’s finished. “I don't know why I didn't expect there would be protections on it, like all the others.”

“We _did_ expect it; we just didn’t think it would manifest that way. We both thought Dumbledore just lost his head about seeing the stone, but…” He lets his voice drift away.

“It didn’t affect you, though,” Hermione says, accurately pointing out what Harry has been thinking about since he successfully cast the _Fiendfyre_. 

He hesitates before answering, pulling his own Resurrection Stone from his pocket.

“Probably because I don't need another one.”

They fly back to Scotland in silence. Harry feels drained, more so than he expected to be. As soon as they kick off the ground, his eyes droop. When they finally sight the castle, the night has already turned to morning. They drop down before the grounds. Harry says the incantation for the Animagus transformation, “Amato Animo Animato Animagus”, as the sun slowly rises over the Forbidden Forest. His heart beats a little faster when a warm sensation extends over his chest.

When they cross onto the grounds, they belatedly remember to duck under the cloak. They don’t see the Marauders on their way up to the castle, but then the moon has already died to give room for the next day. 

In the Entrance Hall, they stop dead. Waiting for them with his hands clasped together in front of him is none other than Albus Dumbledore. He can’t see them under the cloak but there is no way he missed the enormous door open and close again and he’s looking very much in their direction. 

Hermione’s hand grips Harry’s arm in a clawed death-grip. Harry thinks for a second and then makes a snap decision. He pulls the cloak off. Dumbledore doesn’t look the least bit surprised to see them.

“Good morning, Mr Jameson, Miss Granger,” he says to them as if he has just encountered them on the way down to breakfast.

“Professor Dumbledore,” they both answer, a bit stiffly.

“What say you we go have a chat in my office?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are y'all like ( ꒪Д꒪)ノ now? (sorry, not sorry) (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑


	13. Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some questions are answered and some aren’t asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, guess who completely forgot about a part in this chapter and had to write it in all haste yesterday only to realize the chapter got disproportionately long and had to split it up and then realized that the chapter titles didn't make any sense anymore and scrambled to come up with a new chapter title which for some reason is the most difficult part? It- it was, it was me, yes, I did that.
> 
> For those of you who didn't catch it, the reason Hermione obliviated Harry in the last chapter is because part of the instructions for the transformation is to *not think about* the potion, something Harry vaguely reflected on a couple of chapters back. We all know it's pretty hard not to think about something you're not supposed to think about. Obliviating himself was the best he could come up with, and especially with the competent Hermione helping him, he felt safe with this choice.

Hermione and Harry follow Dumbledore up to the Headmaster’s office, not daring to speak. Harry is giving her a look of forced calm. Hermione can feel herself trembling. Is this it, then? Are they going to tell him everything? Or nothing, and risk being expelled? She has a moment to be thankful they have already destroyed the horcrux residing in the castle, but nonetheless, she doesn’t fancy the thought of getting expelled from Hogwarts. Like a fear lingering from her real school-time, she doesn’t think she would handle it well.

Dumbledore sits down in his chair and gestures for them to sit in the chairs facing the desk in front of him. Feeling slightly faint, Hermione slumps down.

“Well,” says Dumbledore pleasantly. “I seem to recall a conversation not too long ago about how you two were going to lie low and not make waves, all in the name of not changing the future. I gather something has changed.”

The sentence hangs in the air as he waits for them to fill in the silence. Hermione fidgets in her chair. She hasn’t learned Occlumency like Harry and thinks this, if ever there is a time, might be the situation where Dumbledore will use Legilimency on them, against their knowledge or will, if they don’t tell him. She keeps her gaze firmly locked in her lap.

“We, uh- had a discussion,” Harry ventures, haltingly and unsure. “Things are not happening as we thought they might.”

Hermione chances a glance up to see Dumbledore raise his eyebrows.

“Oh? How so, Mr Jameson?”

“I’m not sure we should tell you,” Harry answers and then looks to Hermione, silently asking her. She doesn’t know either, and helplessly shrugs. Harry visibly steels himself and turns back to Dumbledore. “But I think we- I think we _must_ tell you some things.”

The tension in the room doubles.

“Please go ahead,” Dumbledore says, voice weary.

“We think we might have affected how the war against Vo- You-Know-Who is going,” Harry says, stumbling over the name for the first time in months. If Dumbledore notices he doesn’t show it. “And we know how it’s supposed to end.”

Dumbledore makes a small noise, as if pulling air quickly into his lungs, not quite a gasp. He leans forward in his chair, a motion so revealing Hermione is surprised he allows himself to do it.

“But?” Dumbledore says when Harry doesn’t continue.

“But things are changing,” Hermione fills in. “We don’t have a day-by-day account by any means, but some things are not supposed to happen, not for a long while, and yet they _are_ happening. This war is going to be brutal, and we agreed that we can’t leave it to chance. Not if,” she pauses to look at Harry, who’s looking back, steadily. “Not when we can help it.”

Harry gives her a small smile, so brief she’s not sure if she imagined it.

“And how, exactly, can you help it?” Dumbledore asks.

“By levelling the playing field,” Harry says, voice dark. “Have you ever heard of horcruxes, Professor?”

Dumbledore’s eyes widen this time.

“Ah, of course,” he says in a quiet tone, not an answer to Harry but in revelation. “It’s why he can’t die.”

“He can die,” Harry rebuts him. “Just not quite yet. But we’re working on it.”

“And have you found out what it is, and where he keeps it? Probably under a lot of safeguarding, maybe even on his person. Is that where you’ve been tonight? Stalking him?”

Hermione shakes her head just as Harry continues.

“He’s got more than one and we know what they are-”

He doesn’t have time to continue because Dumbledore raises a hand to stop him. He shoots to his feet and stalks around his room, muttering to himself, “Multiple… sacrifice... must be… even possible...” Eventually he seems to remember Harry and her; he returns to them and asks, “And so you know what they are?”

“Yes,” Hermione confirms. “We’ve destroyed two so far, and he has another three-”

“Five in total?” Dumbledore asks, sounding as if he can’t believe it. “The state of his soul must be…”

“It’s quite mutilated,” Harry confirms, and Hermione can’t help but think of the mangled piece of Voldemort’s soul Harry described he saw when he went to his death and found King’s Cross. “He intends to make seven, but we don’t plan on letting him get that far.”

It’s quite some time until they’ve told Dumbledore everything about the horcruxes, what they are and how to destroy them, carefully leaving out how they relate to the story and about Harry. Hermione isn’t sure it’s on purpose, but Harry manoeuvres quite seamlessly around the Deathly Hallows, as well.

They leave Dumbledore standing in front of his Pensieve looking troubled, and head back to the Gryffindor Tower. It’s morning by now and they meet some students heading down for an early breakfast. They’re lucky it’s Saturday, seeing as Hermione doesn’t think she can keep herself awake for an entire day of lessons. She wishes Harry a good sleep and goes to bed.

~o~o~o~o~

Peter is a fitful sleeper, always has been (always will be). He and the others are in their dorm sleeping off their night of mischief, excluding Moony, who is, per usual, being tended to in the Hospital Wing. 

The others are snoring away when the door clicks open and Peter startles awake. He peers out through his drapes and sees to his surprise how Harry pulls off his travel cloak and, looking properly knackered, goes to crash in his own bed. 

Peter and the others saw him go to bed early last night and didn’t bother to check if he was still there seeing as the drapings were drawn shut and a small snuffling sound was heard from behind them when they got back this morning. Going by the state of his robes and his tired face, Peter has a feeling he hasn’t been sleeping soundly in bed this night at all.

Peter shuts the drapes again and ponders the strange pair that is Jameson and Granger before going back to sleep.

~o~o~o~o~

Going back to class the following week is strange. Harry feels as if all other activities should stop as they hunt down the horcruxes, sort of like life in general had been halted when they did this last time. But somehow everything keeps going.

Harry finds to his great surprise that Lily is in fact better at potions than Snape. When he brings this up with Hermione, she seems unperturbed.

“I kind of guessed by the way Slughorn kept going on about her,” she says by way of explanation, leaving Harry rather flabbergasted.

The Marauders seem intent on getting one major prank in before the whole school goes crazy with Christmas preparations. They whisper and giggle and disappear at odd times, and Harry does his best to avoid feeling left out. 

Although it's very little consolation, Peter seems to be even more depressed than Harry, lacklustre and often shaking his head when they sit in a cluster and talk amongst themselves. Whatever it is, it seems it makes the rat uncomfortable which is a plus in Harry’s book. Hermione tries to cheer him up, offering to help him study. Her idea of fun has always been a little different than Harry’s. 

He’s lucky he doesn’t have too much time to brood about the Marauders. Studies and their plans for the next horcrux is taking up much of his time to think. One late night in the Room of Requirement they’re slowly going over a map of Malfoy Manor which Harry is too afraid to ask where she got.

“They’ll all be at the Ministry Ball so the house will be empty,” Hermione tells him. “We’ll have a brief window from which we leave here late enough the others won’t suspect anything and getting there early enough for the Malfoys not to have returned home.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to go there on any other night and just sneak around while they’re asleep?” Harry asks, but Hermione shakes her head.

“The security of a wizarding home is always much tighter when the family is actually home. ‘Life that is forsaken, will never reawaken; possessions, things and make, while cherished, loved, may break; just mend it, make it whole, it’s never such a toll, consider what it could have been, your heart, your friend, your soul’, and all that.”

It flows off her tongue like a well-rehearsed poem and it takes Harry by surprise, who has never heard this before.

“How do you even know that?” Harry asks.

He didn’t think he would ever ask that again, given how often Hermione’s reply is “I read it in a book”. This time it’s different, however, and she blushes a little.

“Ron told me,” she mumbles and dives back to the map to avoid saying anything further on the subject. “Through the entrance is probably best. They won’t suspect an intruder through the front door.”

And so, they plan. They look at maps, count distances, observe movements and make notes. Emboldened by their two successful missions with the diadem and the ring, they have begun to forget their horrible history with planning and how it’s usually followed by catastrophe. 

~o~o~o~o~

On the day of, they wait in suspense for the hours to pass. Hermione unwittingly gets herself invited to a study session by Lily who looks so hopeful that Hermione can’t decline. Remembering her own promise to herself she follows Lily to the library, trying to be engaging in conversation.

“What are you doing for Christmas, Hermione? Going home?” Lily asks.

Her eyes are so green, and they remind Hermione so clearly of Harry that for a second, she gets disoriented. She imagines for a moment that this might be what Harry and Ginny’s daughter would look like, should they ever have had children. She shakes the thought away. Pointless to think of now.

“No,” she answers Lily. “Harry and I will be staying in the castle over Christmas.”

“Oh,” says Lily and then smiles a little enigmatically.

Hermione, suddenly feeling suspicious, asks, “What?”

“It’s nothing,” Lily waves her hand in dismissal but then continues when Hermione keeps looking at her. “Well, it’s just… You always talk about yourself and Harry as a unit, as if it’s a foregone conclusion that whatever one of you is doing, the other will be, too. I’m actually a bit surprised you don’t take all the same subjects.”

Hermione blinks at her. Does she really speak that way? They’ve stuck pretty close together, it’s true, but given they’re from the future and worried about repercussions should their stories ever not add up or match, it’s only natural. Does it really look so strange from the outside?

“Don’t look so worried,” Lily giggles. “It’s fine. I do the same with James…”

“But that’s different!” Hermione exclaims. “You’re together!”

Lily pauses in uploading the stuff from her bag to the table in the library. She gives Hermione a long look and then blushes.

“I’m sorry,” she says and dives back into her bag. “I just assumed you and Harry…”

“What?” Hermione says, feeling discomfited.

“Well, that you were together?” Lily finishes in almost a question. “You came to Hogwarts together and sit together and talk in codes with each other, and it’s obvious you really care about one another. There’s nothing wrong with that, I just assumed, and I shouldn’t have,” she says, looking mortified. “I always hate when people assumed that about me and-” She doesn’t finish her sentence, but tacks on, “I’m sorry”. 

Hermione goggles at her. Lily is blushing furiously now, and it makes for a charming colour on her face full of freckles and her red hair. Obviously sensing Hermione’s stare and feeling uncomfortable, Lily scrambles for something to say, something about homework, but Hermione’s not listening.

“I was together with someone,” she says, and Lily pauses to listen with wide eyes.

“Someone other than Harry?”

“Yes, although the three of us were close friends. The best of friends, like you can hardly imagine. We did everything together.”

“What happened?”

“We grew up,” Hermione says, feeling hollow and thinking about that year after the war when everything was both horrible and wonderful. Horrible because of everyone who died, for everything they lost and could never get back. Wonderful because it was finally over; there was peace and there was hope for a better future. Wonderful because she and Ron were together and had their entire lives to look forward to, together. “Grew apart.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lily says in a quiet voice and places a hand on Hermione’s, ignoring her flinch at the touch. “Did he break your heart?”

“I think we broke each other’s hearts,” Hermione says, voice a little wet. “We tried to make it work. For about two years. But he wanted to do other things and when the three of us weren’t all together all the time with other things to focus on… when we had time to finally spend together… we realized we had missed something. We were a great team, you know? Great partners… Always having each other’s backs, being strong where the other was weak. We just eventually realized we were never meant to be a couple.”

“What did you do?”

“We talked. Loads. I don’t think we ever said so much to each other as we did those last few months. And then we decided we were gonna end it. I’ve never seen him cry so much.”

Unbeknownst to Hermione, Lily listens to this story and thinks Hermione might be even more mature than she thought. To realize something isn’t meant to be and strong enough to end it... She thinks about James and her heart aches at the thought of not being with him. She wonders if Hermione ever felt for her guy what she feels for James, and then tries to wave the thought away, thinking it unfair.

“I’m so sorry,” Lily says and squeezes Hermione’s hand.

“Thanks. I honestly don’t know how I got through those first days. Harry eventually came by; he took one look at me and packed my stuff and brought me to his place.” She laughs a little although nothing about it is funny. “He’s always trying to save everyone. Just never himself.”

“He seems like someone who can take care of himself,” Lily offers tentatively.

Hermione laughs out loud at this. “Oh, you’d think so!” She doesn’t elaborate on this and Lily doesn’t ask.

They talk a little bit longer and end up doing very little studying, but Hermione thinks, as they pack up to go back to Gryffindor Tower, that it was worth it to get to know Lily a little better. And to be known by her. As if a weight has been lifted off her chest, she realizes she has been very isolated since coming here. Only ever talking to Harry and measuring every word so as to not accidentally say something she shouldn’t. Lily, as if sensing her maudlin thoughts, takes her arm and hugs it a little. Hermione smiles at her. Maybe she has made a real friend.


	14. Malfoy Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so here's the second half of what was originally part of the last chapter. Hope you guys enjoy! <3

Harry feels a tendril of apprehension when looking at the skeletal horses. It was his idea, sure, but that doesn’t make it any better. They’re fast, yes, but is it really worth it when considering how uncomfortable they are to ride, he wonders. The piece of meat he has brought to lure the creatures out is cold in his hand and the blood is sticky and smells strongly of iron.

“We could just take a broom,” Hermione suggests, seeing Harry’s hesitation. She doesn’t sound pleased at the prospect, but Harry knows she doesn’t like the alternative either.

Harry shakes his head, determined, and walks over to one of the grown-up Thestrals. They’ll never make it on a broom. Wiltshire is even further south than Yorkshire and they need to be there much earlier in the night than when they went to the Gaunt Shack. That time, they could be away all night if the needed. Now, they need to get there, get done and get gone before the Malfoys come back from the ball.

He wishes for the hundredth time they could just apparate where they need to go, or use the Floo. Not that it would do them much good where they’re going now.

He holds out the slice of meat, tempting it with the smell of blood, encouraging it as it lifts its head, breathes in and snorts happily.

“There you are,” Harry murmurs, letting the Thestral take the treat and then lick his fingers. “Doesn’t that taste good?” he pats it neck, avoiding the knobby parts. “We kind of need you to do us a favour,” he tells the animal. “We need to go to Wiltshire really fast. Can you do that for us?”

The Thestral sniffs his pockets looking for more treats, so Harry pulls up another piece of raw meat. The other Thestrals are standing back overseeing the proceedings curiously but not approaching.

“I don’t think it can understand you,” Hermione says, but she doesn’t come closer either. She can see them this time around, of course, but it hasn’t lessened her fear of heights.

“I dunno, I reckon it can,” Harry says and keeps petting its neck and scratching its face. “What d’you say? Are you up for it? I can give you some more meat when we get back but that’s all I brought with me now.”

The Thestral regards him with its milky white eyes and Harry holds his breath. Then the Thestral very deliberately bends its head down in a proximation of a nod. Harry grins.

“All right, thanks,” he says, ignoring Hermione’s huff. He pulls himself up on the back of the Thestral and then bends back to help Hermione up.

He grabs onto the thin strands of mane and tightens his legs around its body, holding on for dear life when the Thestral starts trotting, galloping and finally leaps into the air. Enormous skeletal wings stretch out on either side, flapping with powerful thrusts to carry them up into the sky. It’s as jerky as Harry remembers and he grits his teeth, forcing himself to trust the Thestral will take them up and not just crash into a tree or stumble into a heap of knobbly bones and hoofs.

Hogwarts soon becomes a small dot far down on the ground and then the landscape is moving so fast beneath them that he can’t keep track. He knows Thestrals are excellent at finding their destination. He wishes it was something he knew how to do.

Behind him, Hermione is gripping on tightly to his waist, moaning from fear into his back. Harry would say something reassuring but he can barely get enough air down his lungs to breathe, let alone speak.

He leans forward over the Thestral’s neck, trying to get behind the windbreak of its head rather than allowing his face to be. Hermione tries to do the same. And so they ride, bent low, gritting their teeth against the speed and cold, trusting the beast to carry them to their destination.

His fingers are pretty much frozen solid by the time the Thestral finally starts descending. He forgot to put a warming charm on them and there was no way to manage once they got in the air. 

Hermione jumps down first, wobbling rather a lot before finding a large rock to sit on. Harry joins her soon after. The Thestral goes to explore some of the surrounding woods. Harry gets the distinct impression it will wait for them.

They sit in silence for a moment, recovering. Hermione is the first to move, pulling out her beaded bag. She has immaculate order in that thing even if Harry has never managed to figure out how she recovers things from it without throwing the contents into disarray. He watches in fascination as she sticks her hand down and pulls out the map of Malfoy Manor.

“It should be located just around here,” Hermione says. “Maybe a little bit that way,” she says and points. Harry nods, not knowing either way.

“Let’s go,” he says and stands.

The Malfoys’ wards, when they encounter them, feel oppressive and clingy, like any magic from an old wizarding family, Harry has come to realize. 

He and Hermione carefully feel out the perimeters until Harry has a firm grip of where the lines are put up. Then he takes out the Elder Wand and casts the spell Hermione has spent weeks teaching him.

Harry shivers when the powerful magic reaches out towards them, touching their magical cores, identifying them, judging them, and finally, granting them access. Like a sigh going through the air, Malfoy Manor becomes visible.

“They haven’t got any peacocks this time,” Harry remarks as they walk briskly up the alley to the manor. Hermione says something to this so quietly Harry can’t make it out.

At the door, they stop again. All wards are connected and once having been granted entrance through the outer ones, they should have no problem coming in the second. Harry still hesitates to put his hand on the doorknob.

The choice is taken from him as the door swings open at their approach. Harry looks at Hermione, but she looks as nonplussed as he feels. He tries to lean in to see if there’s anything lurking in the darkness, waiting for them, but the entrance hall seems empty.

Hermione grips his arm when he makes to enter.

“Be ready,” she whispers. He nods. They go inside.

It’s rather anticlimactic as nothing happens. No explosions, no blaring lights or alarms going off. Then again, if something did register as malevolent at their presence, it’s quite likely they would either be captured or not made aware at all.

Gaining confidence as they get deeper inside the manor, Harry starts walking faster. Hermione has the map up again, this time it shows the rooms of the manor rather than the surrounding grounds.

“There’s the dining room,” Hermione says and pointing to a door to their right. “The living room is right down that corridor. The bedrooms will be upstairs, and so will the study where I think he’s keeping it.”

“Where’s the kitchen?” Harry asks, looking inside the dining room and somehow isn’t surprised at all seeing the large wooden chairs, more throne-like than anything, the thick rugs and large open fireplace. 

“Hmm, they’re on the lower floor.”

“In the cellar?” Harry asks, surprised. He thought there were only dungeons down there.

“No, there’s an extra floor placed between cellar and ground floor. I think it’s magically spaced.”

They head up to the first floor. Harry ridiculously tries to watch out for creaky steps but of course, the Malfoys would never stand for such a thing. The first floor, Harry finds when they reach it, consists of a long corridor and rows upon rows of closed doors.

“Blimey, how many bedrooms do they have?”

“The pureblood families used to be much larger and the entire family usually lived together. I doubt many changed the architectural design once that changed,” Hermione explains.

Then a loud _CRACK_ breaks the silence, and Harry jumps.

“What is strangers doing in master’s home when master isn’t here to receive them?” an all too familiar voice asks.

“Dobby!” Harry exclaims, unable to stop himself.

“Stranger knows Dobby?” Dobby, for it is undeniably Dobby, asks.

“S-sorry,” Harry stutters when Hermione elbows him sharply in the ribs. “I just- I’ve heard about you.”

“Stranger has heard of Dobby?” Dobby asks.

“Yes,” Harry says and bends down on his knees to greet the house-elf. “It’s nice to meet you properly, though. My name’s Harry,” he says, holding out his hand. He very strictly doesn’t say what he never got the chance to say last time. _Thank you. It has been an honour._

Dobby reacts much the same way he did the first time Harry met him. He wails, in pleasure or horror or gratitude, Harry doesn’t know, from being treated with decency. It makes Harry just as uncomfortable this time, being faced with the magnitude of Dobby’s mistreatment for it to garner this sort of response to be met with kindness rather than cruelty. Eventually, though, he takes Harry’s hand, and then Hermione’s, and shakes them vigorously. Hermione looks stricken with glassy eyes as she introduces herself to Dobby. Harry viscerally remembers burying the brave house-elf who had saved their lives at the cost of his own.

“It is a great pleasure to meet Harry and Hermione, sir and madam,” Dobby says, snot running down his nose. “What can Dobby do to help yous?”

“Do you happen to know if your master, Lucious Malfoy, has a black diary that he keeps safe somewhere in the house?”

Dobby looks very frightened all of a sudden, which only confirms for Harry that Dobby indeed knows of it.

“What is Harry wanting with master’s diary, sir?” Dobby asks, kneading his dirty pillowcase in knobbly hands.

“Can you keep a secret, Dobby?” Harry asks.

“Harry!” Hermione whispers very loudly. 

Harry ignores her, looking at Dobby. The house-elf looks very uncertain.

“Dobby isn’t to keep secrets from the family he serves, sir.”

“I understand, Dobby. But this diary, see, it’s evil and it needs to be destroyed.”

“Evil, sir?”

“Very,” Harry confirms. “It also wasn’t Mr Malfoy’s in the first place.”

“Many things wasn’t master’s in the first place,” Dobby says, and then looks horrified with himself for revealing this. “Dobby mustn’t speak ill of his family!” he yells, his squeaky voice higher than before. He looks around for something to punish himself with. Harry quickly puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Dobby pauses to look at it. “Harry shouldn’t be touching Dobby, sir. Dobby isn’t clean, sir.”

“I don’t mind,” Harry says, happy to distract him. Dobby’s eyes well up with tears again and Harry wonders if the house-elf has ever been touched when not being punished. He rather doubts it.

“Dobby is finding the diary for Harry, sir,” Dobby says, nodding firmly.

“Thank you, Dobby,” Harry says, smiling at him.

Another _CRACK_ pierces the air when Dobby disapparates.

“Harry!” Hermione says. “He still serves the Malfoys! If they ask him anything he won’t have any choice but to tell the truth. It’s binding magic!”

“I know,” Harry says, grimly. “But I have an idea.”

He proceeds to tell her the plan and rather enjoys seeing her face light up with happiness. He has just finished explaining when Dobby reappears. _CRACK_.

“Dobby is finding the diary,” Dobby tells them, a large smile on his face. 

He hands Harry the diary who takes it gingerly. He knows it doesn’t have any curses on it, that’s not its purpose, but it’s still a disgusting piece of Voldemort’s soul. He knows it’s the real thing because the Horcrux emanates dark, slimy magic which clings to Harry’s skin as soon as he touches it.

“Thank you, Dobby. You’ve been a great help,” he tells Dobby. He holds up the diary to Hermione.

“Gemino,” she says, pointing her wand at the diary. The diary shivers a little and then mutates as it produces an exact replica of itself. Hermione plucks the duplicate out of the air when it springs into existence.

“If you could do us a small favour of replacing the real diary with this one?” Harry says to Dobby. “We don’t want the Malfoys to realize too soon that we’ve taken theirs.” He contemplates his decision and then winks at Dobby. The house-elf looks astonished, and then brilliantly happy. Harry suddenly wonders if Dobby was prepared to take the consequences of the missing diary if Harry hadn’t offered a replacement. The thought makes him slightly nauseous. 

“Of course, sir,” Dobby says, gently taking the fake diary and popping away again.

Harry and Hermione are just finishing up preparing for their departure when Dobby comes back.

“You’ve been a great help,” Harry tells the house-elf. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Dobby is happy to serve, Harry, sir, Hermione, madam.”

“If you want,” Harry says, “in a little while, you should come visit. We’re at Hogwarts if you ever want to come say hi.”

“Dobby would love to, sir, but Dobby isn’t allowed to leave the manor if he isn't ordered to, sir.”

“I know, but if that changes,” Harry says, a warm feeling burning in his chest, keeping him sustained as he notes Dobby’s many cuts and bruises. “Also, until the Malfoys come home, try to not touch anything in the house. All right? Can you do that, Dobby?”

“Sir?”

“It’s nothing dangerous, but as a last favour to me?”

“Dobby can do that,” Dobby confirms, still looking unsure.

They take their leave of Dobby shortly after. The night has gone by quickly and they decide to get a move on rather than try to destroy the diary here. 

In the surrounding woods, the Thestral is still waiting for them. Harry pats its neck and forehead in thanks. They fly back to Scotland at a speed just as high as when they left it, but Harry is filled with such hope that it seems the time flies by.

~o~o~o~o~

James is being maybe a tad overzealous with Quidditch practice, but it’s a way to get away from the stress of schoolwork, and with N.E.W.T.s this year, he’s feeling the drain. Which explains, to some degree, why he’s out at five in the morning practicing loops alone on the Quidditch Pitch. 

He has worked up a nice sweat and is just thinking of switching over to throws when he spots something in the distance. He slows down to watch as a small dot on the grey sky seems to grow larger as it comes closer. Working on instinct, he pulls out his Invisibility Cloak, pulls it over himself and flies over to the entrance to the school grounds, keeping a keen eye on the approaching dot.

As it gets closer, he realizes it’s someone riding something, but whatever _it_ is seems to be invisible. He doesn’t know of anyone who would be arriving, or leaving, the school, let alone through the air. Students certainly aren’t allowed off the grounds. The rider, a little wonky looking, slows down and comes to what looks to be an uncomfortable stop right outside the grounds, about three feet off the actual ground. The rider disembarks from whatever the thing is, reaching up to pull something else down. They pat the air and James gets the strange feeling he’s seeing someone petting an invisible horse.

Thinking it might be an intruder, James is contemplating how to alert someone up at the school, when the someone turns into two someones. It must be students, James determines, for they are wearing the black cloaks the school requires. They walk up to the school, confident as anything, one with their arm slung over the other.

James steps off his broom, not daring to fly closer even under the Invisibility Cloak when a wind could snatch it up and reveal him at any second. He hides his broom and walks closer, tugging carefully to keep the cloak covering him. His eyebrows shoot up when he recognizes Harry and Hermione. 

He’s just about to jump out and hopefully scare them and maybe ask what the heck they’re doing out of school so early when he sees something that makes him pause. Up at the school is the Headmaster, undoubtedly waiting for the pair.

James does what any sane person would do in this situation. He keeps quiet and follows.

Harry and Hermione walk quietly, obviously tired from a night out of doing... _something_. Still, James wishes they could walk faster. The suspense is killing him!

“How did it go?” Professor Dumbledore asks once they finally arrive at the steps up to the school.

James keeps a few paces back and listens.

“Fine,” Harry answers, sounding weary. “We got in and out without being seen and managed to exchange it for a copy, just like we planned.” From his cloak, Harry pulls up a black diary and hands it over to the Headmaster who’s wearing a grim expression. “It’s not cursed so we thought it better to bring back rather than stick around and risk being seen. We were cutting it close as it was. Besides, we thought you’d appreciate getting to study one before it’s destroyed.”

“Probably a good choice,” Dumbledore says, holding the diary carefully in his hands and looking at it. “Thank you,” he eventually adds, looking back up at Harry and Hermione. “You must be exhausted; do you need anything? Otherwise I suggest you both head up to your dormitories and try to catch up on some sleep.”

James can’t hear if they answer him or not, but they all head inside. He hangs back a little, not wanting to stumble straight into them if they remain to talk inside. By the time James sneaks into the castle they’ve all gone. He walks slowly up to the Gryffindor Tower, wondering what in Merlin’s name he just witnessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe I almost forgot about Dobby?!? I had to go back and add in the entire part because there is no way Harry would ever leave Dobby behind.
> 
> Also, I'm very sorry about the cliffhanger! I just have no other modus operandi... I'd say I'll do better but... you know. I probably won't.


	15. Suspicions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I want to thank you all for your lovely comments! They make me so happy and always encourage me when it feels like this project has become too big.  
> As promised, more Marauders in this chapter. Hope you enjoy! :D

Sirius is in a deep sleep when something rustles him awake. Jerking, he shoves out and hears someone grunt when his hand connects with something.

“Stop, it’s just me,” James says in a hushed voice.

Sirius is still disoriented when James crawls into his bed and pulls the curtains closed around them.

“Wha’r you doin’?” he groans and grimaces when James presses a hand to cover his mouth.

“Shut up and listen,” James whispers.

“It’s too early for this,” Sirius grumbles against the hand but shuts up, although he does lick the palm when it looks like James won’t remove it quickly enough. Fair is fair.

“Eugh, gross,” James says and wipes his hand on Sirius’ sleepwear, ignoring the protests he gets in return. “Just, shut up, okay I’ve got something to tell you.” He looks intently at Sirius to check if he’ll interrupt again so Sirius keeps quiet, thinking it’s probably important if it couldn’t wait until morning. James continues, “I’ve just been down on the Quidditch pitch-”

“You are fanatica-” Sirius can’t help but say, but he shuts his mouth at James’ look.

“I was down at the Quidditch pitch,” he repeats stubbornly, “when I saw Harry and Hermione return to the school.”

James looks at him expectantly, obviously waiting for a grand reaction. Sirius is not sure he has grasped the whole problem. He’s still a bit groggy.

“Maybe they were out snogging,” he suggests.

“No!” James complains. “They weren’t just returning to the castle. They came from outside the grounds! On a—something!”

“Something?” Sirius asks, doubtfully.

“Some _thing_! Invisible but big!”

Sirius decides to leave that alone for now. He can’t spare the braincells.

“Well, what were they doing outside the grounds? They’re not allowed outside the…” he trails off, thinking of the hypocrisy of his statement. “What were they doing outside?” he lands on.

“I don’t know!” James says and smiles brilliantly. “But they weren’t breaking any rules because you’ll never guess who was meeting them at the castle!”

James pauses. It takes Sirius a moment to realize he’s expecting Sirius to actually guess. He shrugs, helplessly. James exhales impatiently.

“Professor Dumbledore!”

“Really?” Sirius asks, not knowing what to think about this. “What do you think it means?”

“I don’t know, but they came back looking really tired, so I reckon they’ve been out all night.”

“Maybe it’s part of their extra project for Professor McGonagall,” he suggests, but it doesn’t seem to fit.

James looks equally sceptical.

“And also,” he says, and lowers his voice even more. “They handed him something…”

“Who?”

“Dumbledore, they handed him a diary and said something really odd. They said: ‘We got in and out unseen and exchanged it for a copy’ and something about it not being cursed but that it was best to bring it to him, Dumbledore I mean. What do you think that means?”

Sirius’ head is pounding. He is not awake enough for this conversation. He closes his eyes. 

“I’m thinking!” he says when James shakes him to prevent him from falling asleep. “I don’t know,” he admits when he opens his eyes again. “It sounds suspicious.”

“But it’s Dumbledore we’re talking about, so it’s probably nothing bad, right?”

Sirius considers this.

“I’m not sure… I remember my parents used to speak about Dumbledore with great respect, and they only like what’s dark and powerful.”

“But Dumbledore is very powerful; maybe they’re just afraid of him,” James suggests.

“Yeah, but it was something about the way they spoke about him sometimes. Like he wasn’t all as good as he pretends, or something.”

“What’s that mean?” James asks with wide eyes.

“I don’t know,” Sirius says, feeling a knot in his stomach. “Just maybe that everyone’s got a past, and Dumbledore’s isn’t pristine.”

“I don’t believe that,” James says, looking stubborn, and Sirius feels a swell of emotion for his trusting friend. “Dumbledore is the symbol of light in this whole mess. He’s gotta be good.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Sirius agrees. “But what do you think that means about Harry and Hermione?”

James thinks about it, lying down on the bed next to Sirius, a concentrated expression on his face. His hair is wild from the wind and probably the Invisibility Cloak, Sirius thinks.

“I don’t know,” he says slowly. “But I think we should find out.”

Sirius smiles when he sees the smirk on James’ face.

“Marauder style.”

~o~o~o~o~

They decide to bring it up at breakfast, but Harry and Hermione aren’t there. They wait all morning but it’s not until noon that they show up, looking groggy and sleep-deprived, shuffling into the benches in the Great Hall. James and Sirius, during this time while they wait, agree to tell the other two what they know. Remus looks crestfallen and Peter frowns, looking angry.

“So,” Sirius says when Harry has finished scooping portions for three men onto his plate. “Had a late night?”

James kicks his leg. Way to be subtle, he thinks and checks to see how Harry reacts. It’s an interesting thing. Harry stills, fork half-way to his mouth, eyes darting up to meet Sirius’ and then James’, before flickering over to Hermione. She, on the other hand, has started digging through her bag, apparently very busy with whatever is or isn’t in it.

“Quite,” Harry says when an eternity has passed between them.

“Hm,” James says, pretending to be casual. “I thought I saw you head off to bed early last night. Must have been mistaken.”

“Ah-,” Harry says eloquently. “Ended up getting up later.”

“Couldn’t sleep?” James asks, sympathetically.

Harry shrugs and scoops an enormous piece of Shepherd's pie into his mouth, pre-emptively ending their conversation.

“What about you, Hermione?” James asks, turning to the witch who looks up, hair frizzy around her face.

“What about me?” she asks, picking up a book from her bag and sweeping a stray lock behind her ear. It immediately jumps loose but she doesn’t appear to notice.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Oh! Yes! I mean, no! I mean-” she says and dives back into her digging, muttering, “I got up later… With Harry…”

James looks at her until she pauses her digging and looks back up at him for a quick glance before going back to her bag.

“Did you make plans? To meet up?”

“What?” she says, distractedly.

“It’s just that I happened to see you two,” James says. “Outside the castle, this morning, speaking to the Headmaster. Care to comment?”

“Ah, yes,” Hermione agrees. James raises his eyebrows. “An extra project. We told you about that, didn’t we?”

“I thought that was for Professor McGonagall?” Remus asks, seeing fit to jump in. “A project for missed credits?”

James looks at him. He’s blushing a little. Ah, so the crush is still going strong. Looking back at Hermione, she’s looking at Remus, too, a little befuddled.

“Yes, but this is for our exchange program. We report directly to Professor Dumbledore.”

So far as James can recall this is the first time they have mentioned an exchange program. He doesn’t comment on this but tucks it away for future contemplation.

“So a different project?” James wheedles.

“Yes, quite different.”

“Ah,” James says, agreeably. 

Sirius opens his mouth to say something so James kicks him again. Sirius whines in a low voice and sinks into his seat, looking grumpy.

They ask no more and let Harry and Hermione eat the rest of their lunch in peace. When they leave, the others remain at the table, waving them off cheerfully.

“Why didn’t you press them further?” Sirius asks as soon as they’ve gone.

“They weren’t going to tell us,” James says.

“But we could have pressed them!” Sirius insists.

“And made them more suspicious of us? No, I think it’s better if we keep a watch on them.”

The others look suitably impressed with this plan. Remus pulls up a piece of parchment and they start sketching a schedule for spying. At least one of them share all their classes except Hermione’s Arithmancy but Harry doesn’t take that subject either, so they think it’s fine.

“And we’ve got the map,” exclaims Sirius. “This is going to be a piece of cake!”

~o~o~o~o~

“So,” says Harry as soon as they’re out of earshot leaving the Great Hall. “They obviously know something’s up.”

“Hm,” Hermione agrees, although sounding distracted.

“Do you reckon they know?”

“That we’re time travellers come here by accident and set on saving the world from the evillest wizard of our generation? No, Harry. I don’t think they know.”

Harry silently agrees that is probably correct. Still, like an itch under his skin, he can’t shake the feeling of something being off. But the Marauders stayed in the Great Hall, seemingly unworried and content to continue relaxing on their weekend. He tries to let the thought go.

They’ve arrived outside the Room of Requirement, their unofficial headquarters. Harry paces the corridor and thinks of their need for somewhere to discuss plans.

“Next up is Regulus,” Hermione says as soon as the door closes behind them.

Harry collapses into one of the squishy armchairs, his entire body relaxing into it. He’s so tired, but Hermione goes on. The notebooks and miniature horcruxes are all being spread out onto the table between them. Harry notes with some satisfaction when the little sculpture of Riddle’s diary floats over to the “finished” pile.

“We won’t know where the locket will be until it’s placed in the cave,” Harry says, for the tenth time, he’s sure.

“In 1979,” Hermione agrees. “But we have to make preparations first. We don’t want it to get lost somewhere in the Black family house placed under a _Fidelius_ charm while poor Kreacher attempts to destroy it.”

They all got a bit of a soft spot for the old house-elf after his turn-about when they helped him complete his late master’s final task. Harry tries to silence the voice asking if Hermione might be more concerned for Kreacher than, say, Regulus. She was well on her way towards making legislation for house-elves and other creatures considered to be _less_ than wizards better in their own time, but she hasn’t spoken about it at all since coming here.

“It’s probably better if you speak to him,” Hermione says as she’s making a note in one of the many books piling on the table between them. “He won’t start off being prejudiced because I’m Muggle-born.”

“Does he even know you’re Muggle-born?” Harry asks.

“I kept my name and it isn’t a wizarding one,” Hermione explains with a wry smile. 

“As opposed to Jameson?” Harry asks, trying to remember if he has ever heard of a wizard named Jameson and coming up empty.

“No, unlucky that. But your features are so similar to James’ that we can easily argue some relations going back in the family tree.”

Harry imagines trying to convince someone he’s actually related to James Potter in some distant way, like a second cousin twice removed or something. Then he imagines _failing_ to convince someone they’re related.

“Won’t James have something to say about that?” Harry wonders out loud.

“Hopefully he won’t hear about it, and,” she continues seeing Harry getting ready to argue, “if he _does_ , you’ll just say you’ve never heard about it but ‘it’s likely, don’t you think?’” going for an impression of Harry, doubtlessly.

Harry is not sure he likes how Hermione imagines he speaks, and then wonders if that is what he sounds like. 

“Maybe we should both speak to him?” he says, instead of worrying about it. “Regulus, that is.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Hermione answers. “We don’t want him to feel cornered.”

“He didn’t seem like he felt cornered when me and Sirius ran into him, back in October. He was fine shoving us aside and ignoring us.”

“Yes, but we don’t want him to ignore us or be on the fence. We want him to listen.”

Harry concedes she has a point. Eventually they decide Harry will be the one to approach Regulus and if he refuses to listen, they will go together and _make him_. Harry rather enjoys the fire in Hermione’s eyes when she says this. 

~o~o~o~o~

It turns out it is not as easy to stalk Harry and Hermione as the Marauders first thought. For a start, they vanish from the map on several occasions. James doesn’t believe this until he has spent an hour searching every nook and cranny of the entire castle looking for their names and coming up empty.

“Do you think they left the grounds again?” Remus asks, looking worried.

“Last time they went at night. I hardly think they would risk going on a school day when anyone could see them leaving or notice them be gone for too long.”

Still, it’s not long until James sees something he wishes he hadn’t. It’s his turn to watch Harry and he has followed him as he spent a good portion of the morning in the library with Hermione. James is more bored than he could describe, standing behind one of the shelves under his Invisibility Cloak and watching them study. If he must spend time thinking about schoolwork, he would rather just _do_ the homework and be done, not watch someone else do it and, in effect, be forced to think about it, and then not be able to do it. It’s entirely too much time spent on thinking about homework, is his opinion.

It’s close to noon when Hermione says something too quietly for James to hear. Harry nods and packs up his things quickly. Curious James follows Harry as he leaves the library in a rush, leaving Hermione behind. He comes to an abrupt halt when he catches sight of what Harry was hurrying to.

It’s Regulus.

Sirius’ little brother is standing stiff and looking sour when Harry talks to him, in a low voice and with his arm halfway stretched out as if to put on Regulus’ shoulder. James thinks Harry is lucky he hasn’t put it there or else Regulus might curse it off. He creeps closer to hear what they’re saying but then Regulus scoffs loudly.

“I think not,” he says and takes a step back from Harry. “Don’t speak to me again, half-blood,” he says with a sneer and marches off.

Harry, James credits him, doesn’t give chase. Instead he looks after the youngest Black member with a worried expression. James barely catches it before Harry masks it behind a neutral face and returns to the library.

James’ head is swimming with questions. Regulus is Sirius’ weak point and he worries what Harry might want with him. He knows Regulus is well on his way to joining the dark side, hanging out with Snivellus and other Slytherins that James is pretty sure are Death Eaters, going by the things he has overheard his parents saying about them. Sirius won’t admit it, but James is fairly sure Regulus has gone dark already. 

He flounders when he considers what this means for Harry and Hermione. Are they Death Eaters? Spies? Double spies? James battles with himself about telling Sirius and finally lands on the side of not, feeling very unsure about his choice. 

~o~o~o~o~

James watches Harry and Hermione even closer after that but he doesn’t catch either of them talking to Regulus again. He does notice how they’re increasingly often gone from the map, though. He desperately tries to follow them, physically and on the map, in order to catch them before they disappear but he always misses it.

From what the others tell him, they don’t have any more luck.

“I can never hear what they’re saying,” Sirius complains one evening when they’re sitting in their dormitory going over the day’s results. “I stand barely five feet away and it’s like they're mumbling just to be annoying.”

James thinks about it and realizes it’s true. He never seems to be close enough to hear their conversation. And he never thought it was odd.

“I wouldn’t know,” says Remus. “I’ve never stood close enough that I should have been able to hear them. How about you, Prongs?”

James shakes his head, “No, but I can hear them speaking to other people just fine,” he says, thinking about Regulus again.

“It’s like they have their own language or something,” Sirius says, annoyed and punching his pillow.

“No, it’s not that,” James says, contemplative. “Although, they do spend a lot of time _not_ speaking to each other and still managing to have _some kind_ of conversation.”

“Maybe they can read minds?” Peter suggests, looking frightened at the mere thought.

“A Legilimens?” Sirius scoffs. “Hardly, and unlikely they would both be. Also, they wouldn’t need to talk at all to each other if they were and we’ve seen them talk plenty.”

He sounds particularly petulant about this, James thinks. He doesn’t quite understand Sirius’ preoccupation with Harry. At first James was worried that Sirius was trying to replace him when he got together with Lily, but it’s not quite like that. James can’t put his finger on it.

“They’ve been friends a long time,” Remus says slowly. “Sort of like you and James. Is it so odd they’ve learned to communicate with one another so well?”

His words are reasonable, but he looks a bit sad as he says it. 

“No, but why do they gotta be so secretive about everything?” Sirius asks, a mixture of suspicion and glee lining his voice. “What could they possibly have to talk about that they gotta disappear for hours on end to do it?”

“We also have a secret like that,” Remus rebuts, very logically. “And you said Dumbledore met them, so it’s probably nothing too bad.”

James doesn’t say anything but again, he thinks about Regulus. Sirius mutters something unintelligible from his corner but other than that he doesn’t dispute Remus.

“Let’s just keep looking,” James says and breathes a sigh of relief when the others agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to you if you got the "some thing" reference. It's something my friends and I say way too often xD


	16. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The holidays are drawing near and emotions are running high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind me writing a Christmas-themed chapter in September....

Christmas holidays are fast approaching, and Harry and Hermione are discussing their next plan in the Room of Requirement. The only horcrux left, apart from the locket which they don’t know the whereabouts of, is Helga Hufflepuff’s Cup. They are both rather stumped. 

While the breaking in and stealing the diary from Malfoy Manor and recovering the ring from the Gaunt Shack weren’t exactly risk-free, it doesn’t really compare to breaking into Gringotts. Harry thinks back to their escape on the dragon and about everything that went wrong with their plan landing them in that situation.

“Maybe we should bring Sirius into the loop,” he suggests, not really feeling confident in his own suggestion. “He can help us get to Bellatrix.”

“He hasn’t been in contact with anyone from his family in at least a year, except Regulus and they’re hardly on speaking terms.”

“True, but he’s sure to know a lot more about her whereabouts than we do. Do we know if she’s already married to what’s-his-name Lestrange?”

“Rodolphus,” Hermione supplies. “And yes, they got married in 1971 so we should be in the clear.” Harry refrains from asking her how she knows this. She probably has long written profiles for all people related to Voldemort or the horcruxes. Hermione all but confirms this when she tells him, “And she became a Death Eater in the early sixties.”

“All right, so we can assume it’s in the vault,” Harry surmises and sighs. He’s not sure it would be easier if it were in the Lestrange family home, or anywhere else for that matter, but it’s still an almost impossible task awaiting them. “This will be before the first break-in so the security might be laxer,” he offers without believing it.

Hermione scoffs.

“I hardly think so. There’s a reason there’s never been a break-in.”

Harry nods, already knowing this. They stare desolately at their maps and lists and notes. This time they don’t have the advantage of an inside man. They’re not foolish enough to approach one of the goblins; they are more likely to be arrested than anything if they so much as breathe the word _robbery_ to a goblin.

“We’ll think on it,” Hermione says, and Harry sighs but agrees and shuts the notebooks. “In the meantime, we should focus on getting closer to Regulus.”

“You’re right,” Harry says and tries to ignore the voice that tells him this will be easier said than done.

“He was dismissive when you tried to talk to him?” Hermione asks.

Harry thinks back to the younger Black brother and their first encounter. Dismissive is putting it kindly but he refrains from telling Hermione so. She seems to be able to read it on his face anyway. The two other times he approached Regulus, he had turned on his heel as soon as he caught sight of Harry, either disappearing into a group of friends or disappearing right off.

“I think we had better give him some room. He won’t talk to me if he feels cornered.”

“Maybe,” Hermione says, looking doubtful. “But we can’t wait too long. If he gets approached by Vo- You-Know-Who before we have a chance to talk to him, I don’t think he’ll stop long enough to listen.”

Harry wants to tell her Regulus won’t listen to them now. Just because he hasn’t taken the Dark Mark doesn’t mean his loyalties aren’t already firmly on the dark side.

“I’ll try to talk to him again,” Harry offers, and Hermione looks relieved.

“Good. Worst comes to worst, we’ll kidnap him and make him listen, but I’d rather not let it get that far.”

Long past are the days when Hermione would let kidnappings and threats dissuade her from achieving her goals, he thinks with a twist on his lips.

~o~o~o~o~

“Got all your Christmas presents sorted, then?” Sirius asks as he dives for the couch in the Gryffindor Common Room.

A couple of first-years scramble to get away and quickly take their things to go. Sirius doesn’t really notice. He’s too busy studying Harry and Hermione’s reactions. They’re sitting close together in an armchair and talking in low voices. 

Startled out of their conversation they look up at Sirius. Hermione closes her mouth with an audible click and then picks up a book from seemingly nowhere which she promptly opens and starts to read. Harry smiles brightly at him before apparently focusing on the question. His face does an adorable little scrunch as he thinks about it.

“Not really,” he says and looks over at Hermione. She doesn’t acknowledge the question, so Harry turns back to Sirius. “How about you?”

“I got a few left. I was thinking about buying them in Hogsmeade this weekend. If you want, we can go together and get it all done.”

“Mind if I join?” asks James who plants himself with a heavy _oof_ next to Sirius. “I still haven’t got anything for mum and dad. They always say they don’t care what I get them, but I want to give them something nice.”

Sirius is just about to chime in that he, too, has to buy something for the Potters, when an odd noise has him turn around. Harry has the oddest expression on his face.

“What?” Sirius asks, confused.

“Your parents?” Harry asks in a choked voice.

“Yeah?” James replies, looking equally confused as Sirius feels.

Hermione comes out of her book for the first time to give Harry a squeeze on his shoulder. She looks at Sirius and James with an expression that promises pain if they say anything.

“Harry lost his parents. It’s still a bit of a sensitive subject,” she says to them.

“Merlin! I’m so sorry, Harry. I didn’t know,” James says, looking shocked and regretful. 

Sirius feels a coldness spread in the pit of his stomach. He can’t say there is any love lost between him and his parents, but the idea of Euphemia and Fleamont Potter dying is too painful to bear thinking about.

“I’m sorry, Harry. Are you okay?” Only a second after asking does he realize what a stupid question it is. “I mean, of course you’re not. I’m sorry for your loss…” Sirius casts a look at James for help but James looks equally distraught.

Harry seems to be battling between grief and shame, biting his lip and nodding.

“It’s fine. Sorry about the overreaction.”

“Don’t be stupid!” James says immediately. “It’s your parents - it’s perfectly normal to be upset.”

“It was a long time ago,” Harry says, sounding a bit off. “Er…”

Sirius looks at Hermione for answers, but she has her lips pressed tightly together.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sirius asks Harry, uncertain, but Harry shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine. Don’t mind me.”

Sirius gets the odd impulse to put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and probably would have it if weren’t for Hermione sitting beside him like a human shield.

James, also struggling, scrambles for something to say; he turns to Hermione and asks: “What about you? Are you going home for Christmas?” Seeing the expression on Hermione’s face, James backpedals quickly. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine,” Hermione cuts in, “They’re fine. They just live really far away so I don’t see them very often. We decided we weren’t going to meet up this year.” Noticing their still tense faces, she smirks a little. “Don’t look so terrified. I’m fine.”

“You scared me half to death, witch!” James says, clutching his heart.

“You’ll both be staying here at Hogwarts, then?” Sirius asks, to confirm.

Harry nods. He’s still looking a little pale.

“You can accompany Moony. He always stays over Christmas break,” Sirius tells them.

“Doesn’t he have family to go home to?” Hermione asks, a frown appearing on her forehead.

“Sure he does!” James says. “Mr and Mrs Lupin are just always abroad during winter.” 

The lie slips easily off his tongue, one practiced ever since Remus began at Hogwarts. The full moon usually coincides with Christmas and the Shrieking Shack was a good deal better and more secure than the basement the Lupins usually kept Remus in during his childhood. Remus created the cover story himself and the Marauders have since adopted it.

Harry and Hermione don’t comment on this. Hermione looks a bit sad and Harry contemplative. Maybe it is a bit sad to not see one’s parents, especially if you’re an orphan and don’t have the choice; it might seem callous.

“What about you, Sirius? Going home?” Harry asks eventually.

“In a way,” Sirius answers, thinking of Mrs Potter’s Christmas pie and Mr Potter’s potions lab. “I’m staying at the Potters’. They’ve kindly invited me over for the holidays and all other days.”

“Sounds nice,” Harry says, sounding like he means it.

James snorts.

“What he means to say is that he lives with us. My brother in all but name,” he explains and throws an arm over Sirius’ shoulders. “And not for lack of trying. I think Mum would cry for the duration of the week if Pads here agreed to take on the Potter name.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Sirius says, feeling his face heat up. “They’re just being kind.”

“One day I’ll convince you they love you like their own son,” James mutters.

Harry is following the exchange with a longing expression. Sirius imagines it must be hard to hear of other family units, lacking his own.

“You should come visit sometime,” James offers, apparently seeing the same thing. “If you’re not going back to England during the break, you should come this summer. We’ve got plenty of space. Moony and Wormy spend at least a couple of weeks with us every summer.”

Harry swallows, holding what looks to be a painful grip on Hermione's wrist.

“Are you sure they wouldn’t mind?”

“Positive!” James exclaims, a wide smile betraying his joy at getting them to agree. “It’s settled then. I’ll send an owl to let them know you’ll come stay with us just as soon as we graduate.”

Sirius scuffs him over the head.

“You’ll see them in a couple of days. No need to exhaust Caesar just to beat him home. Besides, they haven’t agreed to anything yet.”

“Sure they have!” James says and turns to Harry and Hermione for confirmation. “You’ll come, right?”

Harry still looks unsure.

“Are you sure they won’t mind?”

“They won’t mind. I promise,” James says kindly.

“In that case…” Harry pauses as if to give James another chance to back out. “We’d love to. Right, Hermione?” he adds, turning to check.

Hermione nods, a watery smile on her face.

“Absolutely.”

“Great!” James says.

He looks so genuinely happy to have invited their new friends. This is why he’s such a great person, Sirius thinks. James practically beat him over the head with his friendship until Sirius started believing it. Seems Harry needs the same treatment, and there is no one better for the job than James.

~o~o~o~o~

Sirius has forgotten his wand in the dormitory. He’s cursing himself as he hurries back up the many staircases, hoping he’ll still have time to take the carriage to the Hogwarts Express. James is dutifully staying down by the horseless carriages, ready to launch a distraction to delay them if necessary.

He’s bounding up the spiralling staircase when he hears voices through the door. It seems the transfer students have taken to talking in the Boys’ Dormitory again. He stops to listen, feeling the seconds tick by but still intent to hear what they might be saying.

“And I’m telling you, Sirius won’t be able to help! He has been living with the Potters for at least a year. He doesn’t have any ties to the Black family other than his name.”

“I’m just saying he has a better understanding of how the family thinks,” says Harry. There’s a loud thump and Sirius almost jumps out of his skin.

“You want to tell him because you always want to tell him everything. I understand, Harry, I do. But he’s not the same person. He’s not your-”

“I know that! Don’t you think I know that? Just looking at him, he’s…”

Sirius is holding his breath, hoping fervently to find out what Harry thinks he is. 

“You love him,” Hermione says in a low voice and Sirius gasps. Surely he heard that wrong. He leans closer to listen, but Harry isn’t refuting him. “I can’t even imagine how hard this is for you, Harry, but I don’t think we can tell him. Any of them.”

Sirius’ head is swimming. He walks back down to the carriages without collecting his wand. James looks at him oddly but doesn’t ask. McGonagall gives them a stern look as if she knows what they were planning. Sirius hardly notices.

They board the train, meeting Peter in a compartment he kept for them. He can hear James and Peter talk in low voices. He’s thankful they’re letting him be. He doesn’t know what to think or say. Harry loves him? What can’t they tell him? What’s their interest in the Black family? His thoughts keep on churning as the train takes them south.

~o~o~o~o~

Now that the others have left for Christmas, it’s up to Remus to continue the surveillance. It’s both a blessing and a curse that the transfer students aren’t going home - it leaves the Marauders a chance to follow them all hours of the day (as Sirius enthusiastically put it as he shoved the map into Remus’ hands) and it means Remus doesn't have time to do anything but follow them _all hours of the day_. He sighs.

He finds Hermione in the library on the map and gets his things. He can’t be in two places at once and he does have studying to do. That’s the only reason, he tells himself as he heads off.

Hermione is sat by her usual table, books stacked up so high Remus almost can’t see her behind the tower of heavy tombs, but for her brown hair sticking up. He smiles to himself as he walks over. He clears his throat softly to get her attention.

“Hi,” he says when she glances up.

“Hi, Remus!” she says looking flustered, and Remus’ heart skips a beat.

Her eyes are big and brown, and she blushes a little, trying to smooth down her hair and arrange her rolls of parchment into a somewhat neat pile at the same time. It ends up collapsing the pyramid of parchments and one roll bounces away.

“Sorry!” Hermione says and stands to collect it.

Remus quickly bends down to pick it up and offer it back to her. She takes it and stuffs it into her bag.

“I’m a messy scholar myself,” he says and then inwardly cringes. _Messy scholar, what the heck?_ “Do you mind if I join you?” he asks quickly to cover up. “I thought I’d get ahead on our potions essay.”

“Not at all,” Hermione says and makes room for him to set his things down. “I’ve finished mine if you want to compare them later,” she offers.

“Happily,” he smiles.

She smiles back. Remus feels butterflies take flight in his stomach. 

They sit in silence for a long while, each writing on their own thing. The scratching of their quills and turning of pages is a comforting sound. Remus is quite deep into thought when Hermione’s deep sighs bring him out of his reverie.

“What’s the matter?” he asks when he sees she has buried her head in her arms.

“Nothing,” she mutters into the pages. “It’s just the stupid books don’t tell me what I want to hear.”

Remus chuckles.

“They have a tendency to say whatever they want, with no regard to the reader at all. Really quite rude if you ask me.”

Hermione looks up at him. When she sees his expression, she smiles.

“It really is, isn’t it?”

They smile stupidly at each other for a while, and Remus is so ridiculously happy he doesn’t even try to contain it.

“Can I do anything to help?” he offers. Hermione is already shaking her head, so he adds, “I’m quite good with…” he tries to subtly glance down at what she’s reading but the text won’t focus. “What’re you studying?” he asks instead.

Hermione blushes a little, pulling her book closer to her chest.

“Nothing. It’s fine. Thank you, though. For offering.”

Remus shrugs.

“I don’t mind.”

“It’s silly. Just an extra project,” Hermione mumbles as she goes back to her book.

She appears to be staring at it blankly rather than reading. Perhaps sensing Remus is still looking at her, she looks up at him from under her lashes and catches him looking. Remus offers a small smile and is gratified when she smiles back. Then she dives back into her book.

So passes another hour. Remus is well on his way to finish his essay and Hermione flips open and closed several more books, apparently not finding what she’s looking for.

“I was thinking about lunch,” Remus finally ventures when the clock turns to noon.

Hermione jerks up and looks at the time.

“Oh! I didn’t realize how late it was. Yes, let’s go,” she says and starts packing up.

Remus watches interestedly as most of the books disappear into an entirely too small purple beaded bag. The others walk themselves over to the bookshelves and sort themselves.

On the way to the Great Hall they talk. Remus finds out Hermione plans to go into the Ministry’s Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures when she graduates. He listens to her lament the many indignities and injustices the many so-called beasts and other creatures face on a daily basis. Remus’ heart almost beats out of his chest when she talks about how werewolves are treated like criminals rather than humans with a disease that afflicts them one night a month. He hums and nods but doesn’t dare say anything else.

The Great Hall has been redecorated in its normal Christmas fashion. All the tables have been moved aside to give room for one smaller table in the centre of the room where teachers and students of all houses alike gather to eat lunch together. Remus and Hermione sit down with the sparse crowd, joining their pleasant conversation and nothing more is said on the subject of beasts.

In a passing thought he notes that Harry didn’t show up for lunch. Hermione mutters about this as they leave to continue their studying.

“Probably forgot, the stupid boy,” Hermione says, not really loud enough to be telling Remus but certainly loud enough for him to hear it.

“He’s an adult. If he wants to skip lunch, he’s in his full right,” Remus tries, who wants her to stop thinking about him.

Hermione halts. Unprepared, Remus has to walk back two paces. He faces her with a question half-way out but she cuts over him.

“What do you mean, he’s an adult?”

Surprised, Remus says, “Well, he’s seventeen, isn’t he?”

Hermione visibly relaxes. 

“Yes. Of course.”

They keep walking as Remus mulls this odd reaction over. For the briefest of moments, he could have sworn he saw a glint of panic in Hermione’s eyes. But surely not, he thinks. What would she have to be panicked about?

In the library, Hermione pauses in front of the shelves. She doesn’t pick out any of the same books she read before. With her hands on her hips, biting her lip and glaring at the rows of books, Remus can’t help but think it looks like they’ve done her a personal offence for not doing what she wants.

“Are you sure I can’t help in some way?” he offers again.

She shakes her head.

“No, but thanks,” she says and then she mutters in too low a voice for any normal wizard to hear. “Sure would appreciate it if Harry would get off his lazy bum and get down here to help, though.”

Remus’ heart constricts. _Oh_. It’s not that she doesn’t want help. She just doesn’t want it from _him_. He looks down on his finished essay. He has no real reason to stay here, other than spending more time with Hermione. And supposedly spying on her, he adds guiltily. Suddenly beyond tired of this whole thing, he packs up his things.

“What?” Hermione asks when she notices. “Are you going already?”

“Yeah, sorry. I just remembered I’ve got, er- to send a letter. I’ll see you later, Hermione.”

She looks visibly disappointed and Remus almost changes his mind.

“Oh, okay. I guess I’ll see you later. It was nice studying with you.”

“Yeah…” he says, lingering a little. Maybe he got it wrong. Then he clenches his teeth. “See you,” he says and goes before he can back out.

He’s half-way to the Gryffindor Tower when the confusion gives way to anger. He digs out the map and traces it until he finds Harry Jameson up in the Owlery. Perfect. He doesn’t bother returning his books to his dorm before storming up to give Mr Jameson a few carefully picked words.

The smell hits him first, as it always does. Animals have a certain smell and Remus can probably pick out an owl of different breed by smell alone. It’s almost overbearing in the Owlery. The hoots and flapping of wings and scratches of beaks and claws come next. 

He stops in the archway, looking for Harry. He finds him sitting in one of the windowless apertures. On his knees sits a cream coloured screech owl and he’s looking at it forlornly as it nibbles on his robes.

“Hello, Remus,” Harry says and Remus jerks.

“How’d you know it was me?”

Harry turns to face him and Remus almost flinches. With the light in his back shining in like a halo and his bright green eyes, he looks like something out of a story.

“Your steps are lighter than anyone else I know,” he says, looking at Remus with those intense eyes and Remus shivers. “What can I do for you?” he asks kindly and the spell is broken.

Remus steps fully into the Owlery, trying to ignore the foul smell.

“I just spent the better part of the day with Hermione,” he says defiantly, fully expecting Harry to be angry, or upset. Or something.

“Good for you,” Harry says instead, completely throwing Remus off. “She sometimes gets lonely spending so much time on her own, reading or studying.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you accompany her then? She sure would like your help with some project you’re working on.”

Harry looks surprised. “She told you that?”

Almost smug, and ignoring the guilty part of him that says she didn’t exactly tell _him_ that, although he heard it, loud and clear. He nods.

“Oh,” Harry says, and looks back to the owl. It has grown bored when it didn’t have an audience any longer and has started cleaning itself. “I suppose she must be growing restless,” Harry goes on, not really loudly enough to be aimed at Remus. “I should probably go down and help her then.”

It isn’t exactly the response Remus was hoping for, but if asked he can’t say what he _did_ hope would happen. For Harry to say something rude or off-hand so that Remus could go off in a rage and then return to Hermione and tell her she deserves better? Still, a tendril of anger is curling in Remus’ guts.

“Don’t you think it would be kinder to tell her you’re not interested rather than string her along like this?”

He’s not sure where his words are coming from. Hermione clearly told him they’re not together, but seeing them interact, and seeing Hermione talk about him and care for him, it’s giving Remus a new perspective of the whole thing. It’s not a pretty one.

Harry, to his credit, looks stumped.

“What? What’re you talking about? I’m not stringing anyone along!”

Suddenly furious, Remus almost snarls. In a flurry of wings and hoots, several owls take flight and shoot out of the apertures. 

“Oh? So Hermione’s just sitting down in the library alone, talking about you and worrying about you and wishing you would join her for nothing? It’s just her imagination that you’re there half the time and the rest of the time looking at other girls, girls who’re together with your mates by the way?!” Harry appears to be gearing up to say something, so Remus steamrolls on, louder now. “Did you know she saved you a seat for lunch and then asked one of the house-elves to keep a plate warm for you when you didn’t show up? You’re such a selfish prick!”

He’s panting by the time he runs out of words. Harry has come to a stop, halfway out of his seat. The screech owl takes off in an offended hoot when her seat is upended.

“I didn’t realize I missed lunch. I don’t want her to worry,” he says quietly, and Remus might just hex him, but he doesn’t get a chance. “But I’ve never strung her along, Remus. She’s my best friend and I love her, yes, but she’s like a sister to me. Nothing else.”

“But she-”

“She knows this, and she feels the same. We’ve known each other since we were kids. I’m sorry if we gave you the wrong impression. We’re not together and neither of us want things to be any differently.”

All the air has gone out of Remus and he’s left just standing there. Harry meets his gaze steadily.

“Oh,” Remus says quietly.

“Oh,” Harry agrees, giving him a small smile in forgiveness.

“Sorry, I just thought…”

“It’s apparently a common misconception. I have no idea why,” Harry says and rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling so Remus breathes out a sigh of relief. “Anyway, if she’s actually doing research she needs me for, I should probably go join her. Merlin knows what I’ll be able to contribute with, but she knows best.”

He jumps off the seat and walks for the exit. Remus remains standing in the Owlery for a long while, staring out at the grounds. A light-hearted flutter is spreading in his chest, and he smiles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up! :D Maybe? :O At least some things are cleared up ^^
> 
> \---  
> Hermione: he's upset because his parents died  
> Sirius and James: D:  
> Harry: it was a long time ago  
> Hermione: *vibrates with tension* _keep your freaking story straight_


	17. Fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, this is a little bit shorter than usual because it was originally part of the next chapter but guess what! That chapter now contains a whole new section about Dobby! :D Ask and you shall receive (next week). 
> 
> I just want to say thank you for your lovely comments- I know I'm not very fast with responding but I plan to, and they give me so much motivation. I eat them like snacks when I'm about to continue writing (which usually happens in the weekend because that's when life isn't too busy). Just know that I see and read and appreciate every single one of you! <3
> 
> Onwards with the show--!

Harry watches as Remus fakes a stomach cramp at supper and begs off to Madam Pomfrey. He feels bad for him, having to spend Christmas Day all alone in the Shrieking Shack without any of his friends for company.

Hermione looks like she’s about to say something but eventually opts for closing her mouth. Remus smiles wanly when they offer to walk with him.

“Thank you, but it’s all right,” he says and leaves, thanking them also for their well-wishes.

“I feel so bad for him,” Hermione murmurs to Harry after Remus has disappeared out the Great Hall.

“I wonder if the others usually stay with him during Christmas Holidays,” Harry says thoughtfully. It doesn’t seem very kind to leave their friend to suffer through his night of werewolf-transformation all alone.

“I hope not.”

“He must have a reason to prefer staying in the castle, though,” Harry says, thinking about his own home situation with the Dursleys.

He would have taken staying at Hogwarts all alone over going back to the Dursleys any day of the week. Even if the only person for company was Snape, he thinks ruefully. They would at least avoid each other equally hatefully. He supposes the Dursleys did, too, those last few years at least. Still, they lived in a small house, compared to the Hogwarts Castle where one could wander for days without encountering anyone else if they didn’t want to.

They’re the only seventh year students left in Gryffindor over the holidays, so they don’t bother sneaking about as they collect their things and head down to the Black Lake. The sky is a little bit cloudy, but the full moon is clearly visible in the sky. 

Hermione pulls out her crystal phial, carefully letting the moonlight shine down on it as she puts the ingredients inside. She gets that same strange expression on her face as Harry imagines he probably had when he took the Mandrake leaf out.

The dew Harry collected for his own potion is just barely enough, and he carefully lets every drop drip into the phial she holds out. For a second when the moonlight catches on one of the reflective sides of the phial, Harry is blinded by the brightness. He’s sure he imagines it, but for a split second he feels something cold pass through him. When he can see again, he doesn’t notice anything odd. Hermione adds the last few ingredients with a concentrated expression.

When the potion is finished, Hermione magically digs a hole in the grass by a large willow and puts the phial in it. The hole is swiftly covered with another flick of her wand, leaving the earth smooth and only suspicious for the bare spot in the grass. Soon new straws sprout from the ground. Harry marks the spot with a rock which will be illuminated when he comes close.

As if on an inaudible que they walk away from the willow. Once far away enough, they stop. Hermione nods once and turns to him with a sombre expression.

“Well, if you’d be so kind,” she says with a twisted smile.

Harry licks his lips. His hands are sweaty. He points his wand at her face.

“Obliviate.”

Her face clears out. Harry watches her carefully as she looks around.

“Harry?” she asks, sounding uncertain.

“I think we had better head inside.”

As if to mark his words they hear a howl in the distance. Hermione turns to face it, looking stricken.

“Oh, do you think he’s all right?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Harry says, not feeling very sure. “He’s safe at least.”

They head back inside. Harry checks the map to make sure they won’t accidentally run into anyone. Harry wistfully remembers Mrs Norris, a bane to his past nightly excursions. He never did find out if the cat could see through his Invisibility Cloak.

Well back in the Gryffindor Common Room, they sit down in front of the fireplace, which is still burning, albeit mostly black embers by now.

“Now all we do is wait for an electrical storm,” Harry says.

Hermione nods, staring into the fire. Harry can practically feel it when an idea strikes her. She jumps in her seat and he turns to her.

“Harry,” she says and grabs his arm. “What do you think the policy is on bringing familiars into your bank vaults at Gringotts?”

Harry shrugs. The thought has never entered his mind. He doesn’t have a familiar, not since… And anyway, he never brought her along to Gringotts.

“Not sure.”

“In some wizarding law, a familiar is considered to be part of the wizard. Not just belonging to him, but actually a part of him.”

“So?” Harry asks, not understanding the relevance.

“So,” Hermione huffs impatiently. “If one of us turns into an animal considered normal for a familiar, maybe none of the goblins will raise their eyebrows at a wizard bringing their pet with them to their vault!”

“Okay,” agrees Harry. “But won’t we still need a wizard that will actually have access to the vault?”

Hermione hums but she seems distracted. Leaving her to her plotting, Harry returns to his own thoughts. Sirius and James are spending Christmas at the Potters, where Harry, apparently, has grandparents. The thought is mind-boggling. He, who has never had any family to speak of, not counting the Dursleys, which he doesn’t, suddenly has not only parents and a godfather, but also grandparents. It’s like a small treasure in his chest, filling him with warmth.

Suddenly he wonders what happened to them. He knows they weren’t alive when his parents died, in 1981, but apparently they are live and well as of late 1977.

“What do you think happened to them?” he asks Hermione.

“What?” she asks distractedly.

“My grandparents. How d’you think they died?”

She visibly struggles to focus back on him but when she does, her eyes are full of sympathy.

“Oh, Harry. There’s nothing you can do.”

“How so?” he asks, dread filling him. Were they attacked? Died of old age? Disappeared? “What happened to them?”

Hermione bites her lip, unwilling to tell him, and Harry resists the urge to shake her.

“They die of dragon pox in the spring of 1979.”

“Oh,” says Harry. “But that’s not a lethal illness.”

“It mostly isn’t, but older people are more at risk.”

“But there’s a cure!” Harry insists, racking his brain to remember what it’s called. “Gunsmilda something created a cure.”

“Gunhilda of Gorsemoor,” Hermione fills in automatically. “But it can still sometimes be lethal, and wizards die of it even today.”

“But surely if we _know_ they’re going to contract it-” Harry tries and Hermione cuts in.

“You’re going to what, Harry? Tell them to avoid all contact with other wizards for a couple of months? Why would they listen to you?

“But-”

“No, Harry. I know you want to save everyone, but this isn’t due to an evil wizard or even a preventable accident. This is an illness, completely normal. Euphemia and Fleamont Potter are very old-”

“Albus Dumbledore was very old and he wouldn’t have died if he wasn’t cursed by the ring!”

“Yes, and by destroying that horcrux it’s very likely you’ve saved his life, Harry, but that’s not the case here. Dragon Pox is a disease. There’s nothing you can do.”

Mulishly, Harry stares into the fire without meeting Hermione’s eyes despite her best efforts. After a while she gives up and goes back to her own things, whatever they might be. Harry remains sure there is some way to save his family. His grandparents aren’t going to die by some measly illness that’s not even lethal in most cases.

Later that night, when Hermione finally sighs and says it’s time they head to bed, Harry digs up his quill and parchment and begins a letter.

_Dear Mr and Mrs Potter,  
_ he begins.

~o~o~o~o~

Remus is still feeling entirely too tired, but he will be damned if he spends another minute in the infirmary with Madam Pomfrey fussing over his pale complexion or new scars. Admittedly they are worse now that he has spent the full moon alone and has had nothing but himself to bite and rip and tear at, but he’ll bite his own tongue off rather than admit that.

He considers walking back to the dormitory but it’s a bright day and he’s been cooped up for too long. Instead he gets his cloak and heads out to the Quidditch pitch. He’s not a fanatic Quidditch supporter but standing up in the stands and feeling the wind on his face as he gazes out over the mountainous area surrounding the castle sounds like a great idea right now. Especially given that none of the Quidditch teams will be using the pitch, the school cleared of most students all in all.

Panting slightly from climbing all the way up into the spectators’ bench, he sits down and gazes out at the Forbidden Forest. Covered in a wispy thin fog, he can see the treetops poking out of the misty layers, like sharp rocks on a white sea. He ran loose in that forest the last full moon. He knows, but he hardly remembers it. Mostly flickers of smells, damp ground and the playfulness in his heart from knowing his friends, his pack, was with him.

He’s so deep in his thoughts he almost doesn’t notice something moves out on the pitch. He sits up straight and searches the field. There, a lone figure on a broom, zooming through the air at incredible speeds. 

Remus follows the movement of the flyer as they go high into the air, higher and higher until he can’t make them out anymore. He loses his breath when the dot appears in the sky again and they dive. For a moment Remus thinks they’ve lost their broom and is actually falling, but no, they’re still seated on their broom, bent low over the handle and pointed straight at the earth. 

Remus has seen James and Sirius fly many times, fooling around and flying seriously. Dives and death-defying stunts are a part of the fun, or so they have told him. He tries to tell his pounding heart this as the flyer comes closer and closer to the earth at incredible speed. There’s no way they’ll be able to stop. He stands up to shout at the person, when, finally, they make a sharp break, no further than three feet from the ground, and rise back up into the air, making a loop. 

Still panting from delayed panic, Remus looks. They’re closer to the stands now and something catches in his throat when he recognizes the jet-black hair and those unmistakable eyes, seeming to shine across the distance. It’s Harry Jameson.

Remus walks down to the Gryffindor changing rooms and waits. He follows Harry with his eyes as he keeps flying, seemingly for no other reason than for the joy of it. Something heavy is building in his chest but he doesn’t have a name for it yet.

Harry finally comes down on the ground and first then notices Remus. Remus knows the precise second because Harry goes stiff like if someone hit him with a body-bind curse. Remus straightens up from his stance leaning against the wall and walks over to Harry.

“Those are some impressive flying skills,” he says in what he attempts to make a nonchalant voice.

Harry swallows and grips his broom tighter. It’s not a model Remus recognizes, but he doesn’t know many makes. 

“Remus,” Harry says, and takes a stumbling step forward, not even half as nimble on the ground as he was in the air, maybe tired from riding his broom for so long. “I can explain.”

“Can you really?” Remus asks, calmly. Underneath his hopefully calm and composed demeanour, he’s boiling. That indefinable thing in his chest is growing. “Care to do so?”

Harry closes his mouth, opens it and closes it again. He looks down on the ground, burning holes into the dirt. Remus watches carefully. Harry clenches his teeth, coming to a decision then, and looks up and meets Remus’ intense eyes.

“Could you keep this a secret? From the others, I mean?” he asks.

Indignation wells in Remus. 

“They are my friends,” he says, and apparently Harry can hear the note of warning in his voice because he raises his hands.

“And I would never ask you to betray their trust-”

“But that is what you’re asking,” Remus says, eyes narrowing.

Harry drops his gaze and looks out over the pitch. He has a forlorn expression on his face, one more fitting on someone much older. He can see it sometimes, on his parents when they don’t think he’s looking.

“I have horrible stage fright. Can hardly move on the broom when I know there’s people watching,” Harry tells him after a long silence. “I could probably have passed that try-out and got on the team if I had wanted to.”

Remus scoffs. Understatement of the century. He has never seen anyone fly so elegantly, so fast and so confidently. James would kill him if he ever found out he missed this.

“But I didn’t want to make the team and then let everyone down when I couldn’t deliver. Hardly any use for a Chaser who can’t fly. So yeah, I deliberately tanked my try-out.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

Harry stares at him for a long moment before answering, “Because you’re very perceptive.”

Remus scoffs.

“But that’s the only explanation you’re going to give me?”

Harry nods. Before Remus can swear or hex him or- he doesn’t know what, just that this lump in his stomach is squirming uncomfortably, Harry goes on.

“You won’t betray your friends.” He says this as a statement of fact, not a question. Remus feels a little vindicated, but he’s still unsure where this leaves them. “I can’t tell you any more than this.”

“But you haven’t told me anything!” he argues.

Harry shrugs and starts walking back to the castle. Before he’s completely out of earshot, he calls back:

“Also, you can stop stalking me and Hermione. You won’t find anything!”

Remus is left gaping after Harry as he gives him a cheeky grin and walks off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh? Eh? *wiggles eyebrows* Did you think our duo wouldn't notice they were stalked? :D (just because Harry doesn't notice he's being blatantly observed from the spectators' bench doesn't mean he doesn't realize when someone is tracking his movements - or so he tells himself at least)


	18. Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Msk2002 who asked for Dobby's POV of being freed - I really hope this lives up to your expectations!
> 
> A few heads-up for psysical and verbal abuse, some child abuse, kind of, and also a little bit of gore, I think? Just skip the first segment if you're squeamish.
> 
> I will say this: the story isn't finished but I'm usually rather many chapters ahead of the one I'm posting and can usually catch obvious misses, but my priority is writing new chapters. I'll always go through a chapter before posting but I'm not focusing overly much on editing at this stage. I might go back and fix some things, and once it's finished I'll have to do an overview just to make sure I haven't left any glaring plotholes. Sometimes I might be able to add in things, like this segment about Dobby, but usually the story is so far progressed that I can't really change it, even if I sometimes wish I could, based on your comments. I love your theories and reactions and exlamations so much! Please keep 'em coming! :D <3
> 
> You guys are incredibly kind with your comments and I appreaciate it so much. It's what keeps me going. Love you so much, thank you! And now, on to the story!
> 
> EDIT 2020-09-19: Dear readers, as many of you have noticed, there was something not quite right with Draco being in this chapter. It's quite difficult for a person to do anything at all when they haven't been born yet! Some of you have, incredibly kindly, believed I've made some clever foreshadowing with including Draco but alas I just lost my head completely when I wrote this additional scene. I've now gone in and edited this. You can reread it if you wish. Draco, of course, hasn't been born yet and, in fact, Narcissa and Lucius haven't even married. Please excuse this incredible blunder - I'm so sorry!!

_Step 5: As soon as lightning appears in the sky, collect your crystal phial. You’ll discover a mouthful of blood-red potion inside it._

_Step 6: Place your wand-tip against your heart and speak the incantation ‘Amato Animo Animato Animagus’ and drink the potion. You will feel fiery pain and an intense double heartbeat. The shape of your Animagus will appear in your mind. Show no fear. It’s too late to escape the change you have willed._

~o~o~o~o~

“Dobby, prepare a nice dinner. We’ll be having guests over tonight.”

“Dobby, I found a spot on the silver - you know what to do.”

“Why are you still here? Get out of my sight.”

“Dobby, where’s my- ah, yes. Never misplace it again.”

The commands are usually very simple, but what is left out of them is the demand for punishment. That goes without saying. Nowadays. When he was new in the Malfoy family, they were very clear about what was expected of him if he ever failed in his tasks. 

“You’ll need to punish yourself duly. We won’t have time to order you around; you do it. If we’re ever dissatisfied with your services, we’ll simply dispose of you and get new help.”

The Lady of the house told him this the first day, and ever since then Dobby has been grateful for the clear instructions. His fellow house-elves tell him they sometimes worry because they haven’t been given clear enough instructions. They’re not sure if they’ve satisfied their families. 

Dobby never has to worry because of these clear instructions. He knows. He has never satisfied his family and always needs to punish himself. If he’s not carrying at least one new scar a night, Master Abraxas will raise an eyebrow, or the Mistress will raise her chin, and then Dobby will know. Sometimes they are vocal, but that has less to do with Dobby’s poor performance and more to do with the mood of the family. 

Young Master Lucius was different. He seemed to find joy in thinking up new cruel ways for Dobby to punish himself.

“Now pull your fingernails out,” young Master Lucius would say to him when he was home from school and bored. “More slowly…” he would say and lean in. “Does it hurt?” he would ask, and if Dobby said yes, young Master Lucius would give a slow, satisfied smile with a cold glint in his eyes.

He grew out of this particular brand of viciousness. Or perhaps he grew bored of it. Perhaps he went on to other things.

When Lucius turned seventeen, Master Abraxas gifted Dobby to young Master Lucius, saying it was a poor man who didn’t own his own house-elf. Dobby remembers clearly how proud he was to be gifted to young Master Lucius, the only son of the Malfoys. A true honour. Even his ears were quivering.

It wasn’t long after that when Master Abraxas passed away. Dragon pox. Young Master Lucius, now the sole master of the house, grieved viciously.

Dobby isn’t sure if Master Lucius blames Dobby for his father’s death, but things were different after that. In the immediate time after Master Abraxas’ passing, every other word out of Master Lucius’ mouth was a combination of threats and insults. It turns into a new routine.

“If this pheasant isn’t prepared perfectly, I’ll skin you, layer by layer, until there’s nothing left of you,” Master Lucius will say in a silky voice if he’s nervous before Miss Narcissa Black is coming over.

“If I even so much as glimpse you at tonight’s meeting, I’ll feed you to the dogs,” Master Lucius will hiss at him in a low voice as he buttons his dress-robes.

He wasn’t always like this. Dobby remembers very well when young Master Lucius first learned. When Dobby was still rather new in the family and young Master Lucius would mostly look curiously at him whenever Dobby showed himself.

Then one morning when Dobby was serving breakfast, he accidentally burned young Master Lucius’ hand on the oven. Young Master Lucius cried, and the Mistress looked as if a cloud had come into her eyes, dark and ominous.

She took hold of Lucius’ hand, right on the burn and bent low to Lucius’ ear where she whispered: “Do you feel that pain, Lucius? That pain must be repaid a hundredfold. Tell the elf to punish himself. Do it.”

Young Master Lucius shook his head, looking afraid over at Dobby, but the Mistress gripped his burnt hand harder, making young Master Lucius wince.

“P-punish yourself,” he whispered to Dobby.

Dobby, petrified from the look in the Mistress’ eyes, shook like a leaf. At young Master Lucius’ command, he snapped to attention.

“Yes, young Master Lucius,” he squeaked as bravely as he could.

He cut off one of his toes for that mistake.

The Mistress looked on indifferently. Young Master Lucius cried as much at Dobby’s bleeding toe as his own burnt hand.

But the Mistress stroked young Master Lucius’ hand and whispered reassurances as her wand swept the pain away.

“There,” she whispered. “Doesn’t that feel better? You did good, Lucius.”

Master Lucius isn’t quite as vicious anymore. The particular brand of cruelty only comes out when he’s very angry. Or very bored.

So in a way, Dobby knows he’s lucky. He always knows when he has done wrong. He has it better than most house-elves. 

Sometimes, though... Only sometimes, he has to punish himself for wishing things would be better.

The day Harry and Hermione came to the Manor was just like any day in a way. He had prepared the dress-robes for the night instead of making supper. Master Lucius spoke about the Minister for Magic in an ominous way and Miss Narcissa, who had arrived through the floo along with her sister Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus, kissed him gently on the cheek. Dobby served them drinks: Gillywater for the ladies and Daisyroot Draught for the gentlemen.

The two couples left the Manor in good spirits. They didn’t say goodbye to Dobby, because why would they? But Dobby often found that it was better when his master didn’t pay any attention to him at all. It usually meant he was doing everything right.

He was therefore very afraid when he sensed a presence outside the Manor a little while later. He didn’t think it was his master, Miss Narcissa or the Lestranges coming back; he didn’t recognize the magic. He also hadn’t been made aware of any guests to be expected. 

For a brief moment he considered not opening the door. It was probably safest. He, as a house-elf, is not allowed to use magic against any wizard in any circumstance unless ordered so by his master.

He realized his best shot was to observe. Someone powerful enough to break through the wards, someone not of family, must be powerful. And for Dobby to have never sensed them before…

He didn’t want them to break anything, though, so with a slight trickle of magic sent to the door, Dobby opened it for the strangers, and then he watched.

When the strange boy and girl reached the second floor, though, Dobby felt things had gone far enough. No matter who they were, Dobby could never stand by having strangers invade his family’s _bedrooms_.

“What is strangers doing in master’s home when master isn’t here to receive them?” Dobby asks with all the courage he can muster.

What follows is the strangest encounter in Dobby’s life.

For the first time he can remember, Dobby is met with kindness. Harry and his friend speak to Dobby as if Dobby has _value_ , and not just in the monetary sense, or in a way that refers to what Dobby can do for them, but an intrinsic value all wizard life has.

Dobby helps them.

Against all better judgement, and fully expecting to be punished to within an inch of his life, he helps them. And when they leave, Dobby doesn’t dare put any stock into Harry’s offer. Harry is kind, but he clearly doesn’t know much about house-elves. 

Dobby does, however, keep his promise of not touching anything until his master comes home. It’s not a difficult one to keep. He planned on going to sleep anyway.

In the small hours, when master Lucius comes back home, he opens the door for him and Miss Narcissa, whom he brought along. Their coats hang themselves, but he gently guides Miss Narcissa to sit when she stumbles a little from her tipsy. Dobby doesn’t question the fact that she’ll be spending the night – it’s a well-kept secret which started when Miss Narcissa was still in school and the engagement was yet to be official, and facilitated by the chaos-loving Miss Bellatrix.

He helps her out of her shoes and up the stairs. Master Lucius walks rather heavily into a wall. Dobby fluffs their pillows and tucks them in. He places a hang-over potion by their nightstands and draws the curtains.

It doesn’t help much; they’re both in a foul mood the next day. He cooks them breakfast and listens idly as his master and Miss Narcissa dissect everything that happened last night, listens to the gossip he would be killed for repeating to anyone. 

Before noon, Miss Narcissa leaves, kissing Lucius rather enthusiastically on the lips.

Everything continues as usual, and Dobby has all but forgotten about the strangers that came to steal from his family last night. But then something different happens.

Master Lucius still has a headache and Dobby is trying to stay out of his way as much as possible, but when his master calls for him, Dobby must come.

“Fetch me another potion, Dobby,” he says.

Dobby pops away and returns with another potion for his headache. He hands it to Master Lucius, his fingers quivering very little. Master Lucius drinks the potion without breathing; Dobby knows it tastes foul. But then he curses viciously.

“Not the headache one! The one against nausea!” he yells and throws the glass into Dobby’s expecting hands.

Dobby grips it for a second, and feels the glass splinter and crack, but he doesn’t have time to mend it before something happens to it. Magic pours out of it until it turns into something else. Surprised, he looks down to see… a sock.

He’s holding the piece of cloth in his hands, unable to understand. His master has presented Dobby with a sock. He looks up, not sure what to expect on Master Lucius’ face. A pale, scared look is not what he would have guessed.

“Master…” Dobby begins.

“What did you do?” he whispers.

“Master has given Dobby a sock,” he says, testing the words.

“I didn’t-” Master Lucius starts but cuts off, because it is undoubtedly a sock in Dobby’s hand, which he proves by holding it up for Master Lucius to see. “You did something,” he accuses, but Dobby shakes his head.

“Dobby only took what Master gave him, and Master gave Dobby a sock,” he says. “Dobby is _free_!”

“No!” Lucius screams, but it’s too late.

Dobby feels the magical shackles fall from his core and he smiles, almost maniacally at his former master. Then he squeezes the sock to his chest and with a CRACK he disapparates from Malfoy Manor for the first time without being told to.

He thinks he might treasure the look of utter horror on Lucius’ face for the rest of his life.

~o~o~o~o~

It’s New Year’s Eve and the students remaining at Hogwarts are all gathered up in the Astronomy Tower. Professors Flitwick and McGonagall are fixing up the fireworks while the students are mingling about, talking about their hopes and new year’s resolutions. 

Harry and Hermione are standing by the wall, looking up at the sky. Dumbledore has wisely put up a shield, not dissimilar to the one in the Great Hall, where they can all see the sky while remaining protected from the harsh weather. Dark clouds overcast the castle and heavy rain is punching against the shields set up by the Headmaster. It’s not the weather they’re worried about.

“There!” says Hermione and Harry blinks. 

The bright light of a lightning is so quick he almost missed it. There is no room to doubt though, as the ominous rumble of the thunder comes but a second later. The other students shriek with delight. Harry meets Hermione’s eyes.

“Meet by the Black Lake?”

Hermione nods and they sneak away unseen by anyone. Harry hurriedly jogs down to the willow where they buried Hermione’s potion. As soon as he gets out of the castle, the heavy rain hits him full blast. He sets up an _Impervious_ charm around himself. The wind catches him once he gets away from the heavy walls and he leans down closer to the ground to avoid getting caught.

The small rock he enchanted lights up once he gets close enough, and he sets about digging up the phial. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the blood-red colour of the potion inside. He brushes off the wet dirt from the phial on his robes the best he can while he waits for Hermione.

The thunder is growing even louder if possible and several times the entire grounds are lit up with the bright lightning. He presses himself against the trunk of the willow, his _Impervious_ charm not enough to keep all the wetness out.

A sudden horrible thought enters his mind. What if the potion isn’t right? What if he did something wrong and all Hermione finds is a phial stuffed with useless ingredients?

Up in the Astronomy Tower, fireworks flash in the sky and he can hear a faint whisper of the cheering. The new year must have begun.

A shape out on the grass pulls Harry’s gaze and he takes out his wand, ready to disillusion himself, or attack the thing if it comes too close. Another lightning in the sky reveals it to be none other than Hermione, hunched over and jogging to avoid the strong winds.

“What took you so long?” he asks as soon as she joins him under the willow.

“Ran into Remus,” she explains and pulls out the phial. “Here’s your potion. It looks perfect.”

Harry swaps his phial for hers and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the same blood-red colour on his potion. Hermione is shivering from the cold as she studies her own phial. Harry sends warm air to dry her clothes and she smiles brightly at him.

“Oh, good idea,” she says, and casts some sort of protective shield around them. As soon as she’s finished, the wind and rain diminish. “Happy New Year, Harry,” she says, holding up her phial like one would a glass of Champagne.

“Happy New Year, Hermione,” he answers. The clink of the phials is melodious. They grin nervously at each other. Harry points his wand to his heart and says the words he has spoken so many times these past months, “Amato Animo Animato Animagus,” and downs the potion.

In his periphery he sees Hermione do the same, but his world is consumed by pain. It starts in his chest where the double heartbeat, which has been growing louder and louder for every incantation, originates. Like a fire it spreads throughout his chest, licking up his throat and spreading down into his gut. Soon his arms catch fire, and his legs. When the fire reaches his mouth, his nose, his eyes, he can’t hold the scream in any longer and his wail pierces the air, joined by another soon after.

In his mind he can hear a different sound. Music. It doesn’t seem to be coming from anywhere, but it fills his heart. The pain doesn’t appear so bad anymore when the music resonates inside of him, swelling until it takes over everything. He can still see the fire and in the fire something moves. Golden and ruby flames turn into wings as something large emerges from the fire.

_Oh_ , Harry thinks, as he recognizes the shape. _Of course_. Harry closes his eyes as the giant figure rises from the fire and spreads its enormous wings and takes flight. Harry feels when the bird connects with him. It’s not a physical collision but rather a merging. Sort of like his Patronus when he pats his forehead. Bright light and joy. Warmth.

He accepts the foreign energy in the same breath that he realizes it isn’t foreign at all, but a part of him that has been waiting to awaken. The energy surrounds him, submerges him, and he can feel himself change. Running through every muscle, every vein, through every bone - he transforms.

He opens his eyes as a Phoenix.

He read all of the warnings and cautionary tales about halfway mutant transformations, about being unable to turn back, about the frightening experience. He breathes in and feels nothing but calm, like his soul is finally at peace.

“Hermione?” he tries to ask, but all that comes out is a soft coo.

Nevertheless, he finds her. She has also transformed. A majestic eagle sits on the first branch of the willow, looking down at Harry as if to say, _What took you so long?_ Harry thinks he can even spot the smug glint in her eyes, just as sharp as her human ones.

Huffing, he flaps his wings a little and almost falls over from the incredible balance-shift. Hermione caws in laughter and swoops around the willow once, completely unbothered by the still hard rain.

_All right, you can stop gloating_ , he thinks very hard at her and jumps a bit to test his claws for feet.

Once recovered from the new shape, he spreads his wings again and forces them down in a powerful flap. He comes into the air immediately. And _oh_ , flying as a Phoenix is just as good as flying on a broom. 

He takes to the sky with two powerful thrusts and then sails through the air. Hermione joins him a second later. They soar through the sky, flying over the dark landscape below them, the castle turning into an insignificant dot far below.

The Forbidden Forest is vast but soon they leave it behind, too. Harry opens his beak and cries in joy, thrilled but not the least bit surprised by the melodious song emerging from him. It’s a sound coming directly from his heart and spreading out into the night sky, sharing his happiness and love. Hermione calls out next to him, not a melody but a powerful whistling sound, merging with his own.

Harry loses all sense of time. He soars high in the sky, flying through the dark clouds and seeing the lightning building before releasing in a flash and a thunder. He goes down to let his claws touch the surface of one of the many lochs covering the Scotland highlands, dipping his beak to take a long pull of water. He flies with a family of crows, joining their caws.

They fly until his wings start protesting, then he spots a high mountain slightly east and turns towards it. Once at the top he folds his wings and lands gracefully. Hermione comes in a second later. Without further ado they change back. Staring at each other with wide eyes. Then they smile widely, and Harry can feel happiness bubbling uncontainable in his chest.

Sometime during their flight, it stopped raining and the sky cleared up, showing them the beautiful land visible from their high point.

Hermione looks out at the country and Harry expects her to grip the rock beneath her and demand they go down, but it seems all fear of heights has left her once she gained her wings. She has a happy flush to her cheeks and her eyes are sparkling.

“Wow,” she breathes. “Is this what you always feel when you fly?”

Harry shrugs, unable to contain his own smile, “Pretty much.”

“I can see why you love it.”

They stay on the mountain until the sun peaks over the treeline, telling them their time is up. Harry takes one powerful leap out from the plateau and spreads his wings as he transforms, gliding on the light breeze that carries them back to Hogwarts. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you usually need a wand when you’re a new Animagus, but come on, this is Harry freakin Potter and Hermione badass Granger we’re talking about :D
> 
> What do you think about their animagus animals? Funny thing, I had originally planned Harry to become a stag but I literally couldn’t write it. He was determined to become a Phoenix, so I let him.  
> I think my favorite suggestion from you guys was owl, suggested by Hewwo, which is just so freaking cute!
> 
> Also, it had to be a sock, right? xD


	19. Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry goes on to be an oblivious fool but it turns out all right anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small notice: if you read the last chapter in the first 24 hours after posting, you might want to go back and reread it due to reworking of the first part.

The first night back in the castle, the Marauders converge in the kitchens. Over mugs of hot chocolate provided by eager-to-please house-elves, they pull everything Remus gathered over the holidays from him.

He tells them what little he found out but doesn’t bother mentioning Harry’s flying skills. He doesn’t think it’s relevant, and he thinks Harry and he came to a somewhat odd agreement: Harry doesn’t tell him and Remus has nothing to lie about. He rather thinks of the pair as friends now and doesn’t want to bullocks up the second set of friends he’s ever had, especially when Hermione’s one of them, and Harry seems much more sensible than James and Sirius ever have.

Disappointed but not deterred they decide to continue tracking the transfer students. Remus considers telling them about Harry’s warning, but in the end he doesn’t think that would go over well with the others.

Once finished with recon, James, Sirius and Peter each take their turn telling the others about their holidays. James and Sirius’ story is a bit of a jumbled mess, but Remus gathers that James sent a letter to Lily and it turns out her parents are rather lovely. Sirius rather gleefully shares how he set a trap for Lily’s sister, though, because she was “a snotty stuck-up not fitting to lick the boot of the slimiest of Slytherins” according to him. 

Peter is oddly tight-lipped about his own holiday. He tells them about how Mrs Pettigrew says hello to them. Remus thinks fondly of the witch, always sweet when they run into her on Platform 9 ¾. 

“Dad got a bit weird,” James tells them when there’s a lull in the conversation. “He got a letter just before New Year’s and then spent almost all his time down in the potions lab. He hasn’t been there that much since he sold the formula for the Sleekeazy.”

“Such a shame, too,” Sirius says, swiping his mouth with his sleeve. “He usually lets us use it to work on our experiments and shows us some really cool potions stuff.”

“That’s odd,” Remus agrees. “What did Mrs Potter say about it?”

“Mum seemed worried, too,” James says quietly, a frown marring his face. “Wouldn’t answer when I asked what was going on, just that it was nothing to worry about.”

Clearly James didn’t take that advice to heart going by the tapping of his fingers against the table.

“But hey,” says Sirius in an obvious attempt to break the strange mood, “You’ll never guess what we got!”

“What?” says Peter, at once, bright blue eyes lit up.

“Tattoos!” Sirius answers and pulls up his sleeve where an enormous black dog lifts its head and looks up from his peaceful rest. It wags its tail hopefully and then bounds up, chasing its own tail before galloping down Sirius’ arm to stop at his wrist where it barks noiselessly.

“Wow,” Remus can’t help whispering. “Wicked.”

“I got a stag, naturally,” James says with a proud smirk and shows off his own tattoo. The regal Prongs doesn’t perform any antics but regards the trio with soulful eyes, its hoof scratching a non-existent ground, before it takes off in a trot up James’ shoulder until it disappears into his robes. “He's a bit antisocial, I’ve no idea why,” James explains and frowns a little at his bare shoulder.

Remus can probably guess. James looks like he wants nothing more than to crawl into bed and hide from the world. His tattoo is just more honest about it.

“We should probably head off to bed,” he offers. The others groan in disappointment or protest, but nonetheless they pack up their things and walk back to the Gryffindor Tower with little fuss.

~o~o~o~o~

School starts up like a slap in the face. Despite spending most of Christmas break studying and catching up, it’s no use. The teachers seem to have come to an agreement about making up for lost time. They set essays and practical exercises and mock exams with vengeance. Even James and Sirius seem slightly overwhelmed under the heavy workload and can be found in the Gryffindor Common Room most nights yelling at the first years to keep their voices down so they can study. By the end of the first week, they’re all wondering how they’re going to make it through to May.

On the 30th of January, James takes Lily on a date. He sneaks her up to the Astronomy Tower where he has decorated with candles and fairies and flowers.

“Sorry,” James mumbles, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know if it’s too much. I just wanted to do something nice for your birthday. Happy birthday, also,” he says with a shy smile.

Lily can feel her heart swell like a balloon in her chest. She takes James’ hand, pulling him forward and kisses him.

“I love you,” she says and the smile that lights up his face is more luminous than the fairies around them.

They talk long into the morning, about their hopes and dreams and plans for the future.

“I don’t want to get married until after school,” Lily tells James in a small voice. His face is doing complicated things and for a heart-stopping moment she wonders if he hasn’t thought of marriage at all.

“That’s all right,” James says finally, squeezing her hand. “I’ll wait.” It’s at that moment she knows she made the right decision. She kisses him on his lips, so soft and yielding. He kisses back, just as tenderly. Then he kisses her nose and her eyelids and every freckle on her face. Her heart almost leaps out her chest when he leans back, and after a second of looking deep into her eyes, he says, with an aching tenderness, “You are my everything.”

~o~o~o~o~

Harry tries to talk to Regulus again but meets the same resistance as before. The N.E.W.T.s classes are crushing in their intensity and he and Hermione spend most evenings in the Room of Requirement, which has since created a tunnel-like corridor to the Hogwarts Library. The only thing keeping his spirits up is their nightly flies. He and Hermione sneak out, when everyone has gone to bed, and transform into their Animagus forms and sail the skies on wide wings. Sometimes they fly far away, but mostly they circle around the Forbidden Forest and the Black Lake, basking in the wind and fresh air.

The upside to school being absolutely insane is that the Marauders seem to have let up on the surveillance. Harry’s not sure if his words to Remus helped at all, but he is reluctant to look a gift hippogriff in the mouth. Instead he enjoys how the Marauders invite him to plan pranks, check each other’s essays and come watch their Quidditch practices. 

Especially Sirius seems to be hanging around Harry an inordinate amount of time, leaving James to spend time alone with Lily, and Remus to hang after Hermione in a manner which seems obvious to everyone but her. Harry’s not sure where Peter has gone off to, be he finds he doesn’t care.

He enjoys spending time with Sirius, a young, happy and healthy Sirius, who doesn’t have a haunted look in his eyes or a slight tremor in his hands. He’s not the same Sirius whom Harry loved like a father, or brother, he never got to know, who loved Harry with all his heart, unconditionally and recklessly. But he is Sirius, which Harry learns more for every minute they spend together.

“Have I told you about the time me and Prongs spent a week in Muggle London and got hunted down by the Muggle Aurors?” Sirius asks. He’s lying on the floor in the dormitory, arms folded behind his head as he looks up on Harry with an excited glint in his eyes.

Harry’s perched on his bed, trying, but mostly having given up on, reading his Charms book. He has noticed that Sirius usually speaks of James as Prongs when they were transformed to their Animagus animals, but he doesn’t think Sirius realizes. Given that Harry shouldn’t even know about it, he supposes it doesn’t matter. 

He shakes his head at Sirius’ inquiry and drops his book to listen to the tale of one of the most entertaining adventures his dad and godfather went on. Despite seeing them every day, and actually getting to know them, he still listens enraptured to Sirius’ story, soaking up every detail. 

Sirius’ hands are moving as he speaks, and after a while he turns on his stomach to better see Harry as he regales the details of how Prongs went through the rubbish of a Muggle restaurant and how the owner hunted them down all the way to Hyde park, more than three blocks away.

Harry is in stitches by the time Sirius comes to the end of his story. He rolls over, clutching his stomach and accidentally falls onto the floor, letting out a surprised ‘ _oof’_ when he lands. Sirius cackles at him, which sets off Harry again.

When the laughter dies down, they’re both on their backs, panting for air and grinning wildly.

Something pings painfully in Harry’s chest looking at Sirius like this, laughing and unburdened. His handsome features are enhanced as he smiles, showing off a row of perfectly straight, white teeth, nose scrunched up just a little and laugh-lines softening his sharp eyes. Harry’s breath catches. Sirius meets his eyes, and something stills in his face, too. They turn on their stomachs and keep regarding each other. For a moment everything around them disappears and the only thing that is important is this moment right here.

“Harry,” Sirius says in a quiet voice. 

Harry pulls in a breath of air he didn’t know he was holding.

“Sirius,” he says, and his voice comes out more breath than anything. “Wh-”

They’re interrupted when the door to the dormitory slams open as James barges in. At first, he doesn’t notice Harry and Sirius as they lie partially hidden by the beds. In silence they watch as James walks over to his trunk and starts pulling out things, throwing them into the air, uncaring where they land, as he keeps looking for whatever he’s after.

Then, he apparently catches sight of Harry and Sirius and visibly startles. 

“Merlin!” he says, clutching his heart. “What’re you doing here, hiding under the bed?”

“We’re not hiding,” Harry protests. “And we’re hardly _under_ the bed.”

“On the floor then,” James waves away, and then seems to notice something and pauses. “What are you doing on the floor?” he asks, and there’s a new quality to his voice. A lilting smirk is playing on his lips as he looks first at Sirius and then at Harry.

“Nothing!” Sirius yells and gets up. Harry tries to quell his disappointment. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be on a date or something?”

“No,” says James, still smirking. “No date.”

“What’re you looking so smug about then?” Sirius asks, suspiciously.

“Nothing,” James says, and bites his lip in an attempt to stop smiling. It goes poorly. “You go on,” he continues and starts walking out. “Carry on doing whatever it is you’re doing,” he says and pauses, “or not doing.” He has reached the door and adds, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” with a shit-eating grin, before slamming the door to avoid the projectile book sent his way by an enraged and flushed Sirius.

Harry looks on interestedly as Sirius curses him out, muttering about insufferable twats. He’s not entirely sure what just transpired but his stomach is doing little swoops. He’s rather pleased James went away as it means more time for him and Sirius to… something. He’s not sure what.

He flushes and quickly looks away when Sirius pulls his robes off.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, flustered.

“I’m going out on the pitch,” Sirius says as he pulls on his Quidditch robes. Harry swallows his disappointment he can’t really place. “I’ve been cooped up all day and I’m going insane if I have to spend another minute indoors.” He’s getting his broomstick now and is halfway out the door before he stops and turns around to face Harry, who’s trying to school his expression from one of pain and disappointment to something more neutral. “Want to come? You can ride my broom if you want?” he offers and then goes inexplicably red. “You can borrow it, I mean! Or we can grab one from the shed and I can show you some tricks with the Quaffle?”

Harry wants nothing more than to go flying with Sirius but the odd twist in his stomach is still there. He hesitates.

“Or you can come watch?” Sirius offers, catching on to Harry’s reluctance and completely misinterpreting.

Harry looks at the broom Sirius is gripping, and then back up at Sirius’ face. 

“I- yeah sure.”

Sirius lights up like the sun peeking out between clouds.

“Great!”

~o~o~o~o~

Harry’s not entirely sure how it happened but he climbs up on the broom behind Sirius and after hesitating for a second, scoots forward and winds his arms around Sirius’ waist.

“Hold on tight,” Sirius tells him, and then he kicks off the ground.

It’s not the same as flying alone on his broom when he can feel the wind on his face, and decides entirely where to go, moving according to thought rather than action he sometimes feels. It’s not like flying as a Phoenix either, when he rests on the winds, when he is a part of the sky.

He wraps his arms more tightly around Sirius, feeling his chest expand and contract as he breathes. This close Harry can smell Sirius and the scent is sending a tendril of pleasure through him. He tightens his knees around Sirius’ hips, moving as closely as possible to make the imbalance of being two on a broom lessen. 

“You’ll love this,” Sirius tells him and directs the broom straight up. 

They go higher and higher and then the world turns upside down as they do a loop. Sirius is right, Harry thinks. He does love this. He laughs out loud as they swoop through the air, wind like physical blows at their sides, gripping their robes. 

Sirius doesn’t stop but takes them on a spin around the castle, going close enough to the walls for Harry to stretch out a hand to touch the stone. Above the Forbidden Forest where Harry dips his feet against the treetops and feels them bend and sway back once released. Across the Black Lake where Harry dips to the side and lets his fingers trail the surface. He feels as Sirius shifts on the broom, countering his movement by bending to the other side, and then sticking a hand into the water as well. Harry laughs in joy as they create an avenue of water from pushing deeper into the lake, forcing streams up around them.

Suddenly the broom dips unexpectedly, the broom shaft catching in the water surface and getting stuck. Harry and Sirius are catapulted off the broomstick, flying at least fifty feet forward before crashing into the cold water.

Spluttering and coughing, Harry swims to the surface. A little bit further ahead Sirius’ head sticks out from the water, coughing also.

“Harry?” he calls in worry and Harry responds with a raspy voice.

“Here! Sirius, are you all right?”

“Yes!” Sirius answers, relief clear in his voice as he turns to swim towards Harry, who meets him halfway. “I’m sorry about that. Caught me completely off guard.”

“It’s all right, no damage done,” Harry says lightly, treading water.

“Don’t let this turn you off flying, though,” Sirius tells him, trying to wave his hands for argument but soon finding he needs them for swimming. “Flying is great, and I know this doesn’t seem like it but I swear, it’s so much fun and this is just a blip. You’re not normally this close to the water- I mean, you can be, but you don’t have to. And when you fly by yourself, you can usually better control it so this wouldn’t happen anyway but oh! I don’t mean that this is your fault - I completely bolloxed it up, if I’d kept better attention to the surface level- and why are you laughing?!”

Sirius rant might have gone on but Harry can’t hold back any longer and he bursts out laughing. So worried about what he might think, he doesn’t realize that Harry already loves flying, that he loves flying with Sirius and that he is enjoying himself immensely.

“I’m sorry!” Harry finally manages to get out. “It’s fine, I’m okay. I don’t mind,” Harry tries to get the right words out, but it’s mostly a jumble of odd reassurances.

“You-” Sirius says, looking at him oddly, but then he relaxes and laughs, too. He almost dips under the surface, accidentally breathing in a new gulp of water, which _does_ send him down under. He comes back up spluttering, which sets them off again.

Once they’re gasping for breath, they realize it’s quite cold in the water. The broom has flown off to somewhere unknown. Harry thinks they’ll find it later. For now, though, he digs through his robes and finds his wand. It’s quite a struggle to get it out from his heavy clothes which seem determined to be as tentacle-like as possible. Once free, he creates a small raft for them to climb onto.

“D’you always keep a wand on you when you go flying?” Sirius asks curiously.

“Always,” Harry confirms and dries their clothes.

The sun is going down, and together they watch it set. Harry sends them back to shore by propelling air out of his wand. They’re shuddering from cold by now and they hurry back to the castle. They find Sirius’ broom snuggled into the branches of a tall pine. Harry summons it and they ride the broom the last bit back, Harry gripping onto Sirius tightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot tell you how much I love the idea of them having tattoos - this was one of those things I thought of in the middle of the night and _just had to write down so I wouldn't forget. ___  
> Hope you enjoyed their broom ride together ;D


	20. Gringotts

Harry and Hermione stand still under the Invisibility Cloak, waiting. Any moment now a man will step out of the pub. He has done so all nights previously and now, finally, the time has come to act.

The door springs open, and Harry lifts his wand, but it is only a gang of witches, stepping out and talking amongst each other. They stop a bit away from the pub and after brief words of farewell, they Apparate away. Harry and Hermione settle back into waiting.

“You don’t think we’ve missed him, do you?” Hermione whispers.

Harry shakes his head. He’s about to expand on that when the door slides open again. A lone figure sets out down the street and without a word Harry and Hermione follow.

The man walks further than the witches. He stops once to check something in his coat, and then keeps on walking. He slips into a dark alley and with a brief look at one another, Harry and Hermione follow. It’s a dead end so this is probably where he will Apparate away; they hurry to catch him before he does. And stop dead.

The man stands facing them, wand pointed right at them. Harry already has his wand up and ready to fight when Hermione puts a hand on his arm. The man isn’t pointing his wand at _them;_ he has it pointed to the opening of the alley. He’s looking right through them, waiting for something.

It takes a second for Harry to realize he probably noticed someone following him and thought to catch them. He didn’t count on them being invisible, though, it seems.

“I know you’re there,” the man says. “Show yourself.”

Or not.

Harry slips his wand out between the folds of the Invisibility Cloak, hoping the man won’t notice the small piece of wood appearing out of nowhere.

“ _Stupefy_!” he shouts and the man crumples.

“Quickly now,” Hermione says, and pulls the cloak off. They hurry up to the man and grab hold of him. Harry picks up the man’s wand and stuffs it in his robe. Then they Disapparate.

They appear again with a loud CRACK in Hogsmeade, just outside the Shrieking Shack. Pulling the man proves more difficult than expected due to his massive build. Harry points his wand again and says, “ _Mobilicorpus_ ”. He floats the body in front of him, casting a quick look around to make sure no one is watching them.

Once inside, he sets the man down on the floor, unrobes him and binds him with a whispered ‘ _Incarcerous’_. Hermione pulls out a flask from her purple beaded handbag and comes over to them. She pulls a strand from the man’s head, wrinkling her nose, and drops it into the flask.

“Cheers,” she says, looking down into the flask. She swings it back and downs three deep swallows. Harry grimaces in sympathy as she gags. “Disgusting,” she croaks.

“Here,” says Harry, picking the robes of the man from the floor and handing them over to Hermione.

She takes them and Harry turns around to leave her modesty while she changes into the man’s clothes. When he turns back around, the transformation is complete. She is much taller, with thick black hair and heavyset eyebrows. She looks properly dangerous.

“Well?” she asks and the deep voice of someone else comes out.

“Perfect,” Harry says and offers her the man’s wand. He pulls on the Invisibility Cloak and together they Apparate to Diagon Alley.

It’s eerily silent on the streets this early in the morning. None of the shops have opened yet. Hermione in her disguised form, looks mostly bored but when Harry sees her eyes, he can recognize the fear in them.

“Come on,” he says to her and together, him invisible and her disguised, they walk.

Gringotts is open, of course. Harry walks behind Hermione. She shuffles, a little unsteady on her feet. Only one other visitor is there, standing by one of the desks, bent over it, hidden behind a cloak covering his face. He speaks to the goblin behind the desk in a low voice. The goblin appears offended and is continuously shaking his head.

Harry and Hermione don’t stop to watch. Instead they march up to an empty desk. After a moment of hesitation, Hermione dings the small bell. It rings loud and clear and Harry can see her flinch.

“Mr Rodolphus Lestrange?” says a goblin, appearing out of nowhere.

“I need to visit my vault,” Hermione says in that deep voice.

“Certainly, Mr Lestrange,” the goblin says, and Harry breathes a sigh of relief. No identification needed this time. They haven’t been anticipated. “If you’d follow me,” continues the goblin and jumps off his chair and disappears from view.

He appears a moment later with a bag of metal instruments Harry recognizes from last time. The goblin gives them an impatient wave, urging them on. Hermione walks in slow steps and Harry follows closely behind. He almost slips on his way into the cart and has to hastily pull on his cloak to avoid it slipping off his head. Before he has even had time to sit down, the small cart starts moving. It gains speed quickly and soon they’re hurtling along the roller coaster of a railway. Harry’s stomach swoops uncomfortably at a sudden drop. Hermione is gripping the sides with her big hands, staring fixedly at a point in front of her. 

They go deeper and deeper down into the passages. Harry’s not sure exactly where they encountered the Thief’s Downfall last time, but they have apparently made it through without setting off the defences.

“Here we are, Mr Lestrange,” says the goblin as the cart finally comes to a halt.

They step out on slightly wobbly legs and follow the goblin as he leads them the last bit through the stone passage, before coming around the corner to the dragon which Harry expects. It’s still there. Enormous, pale and almost blind. Hermione accepts the Clanker the goblin offers her, and Harry keeps close to her as they approach one of the vaults guarded by the dragon.

Harry holds his breath as the goblin places his hand against the wooden door. It melts away to reveal the cave-like opening. It’s just as full of golden coins and other treasure, large and small, as Harry remembers.

They enter. The goblin stands beside them just inside the door, keeping it open. Harry doesn’t dare touch anything, just in case the Gemino and Flagrante curses have been a part of the Lestrange protection for longer than Griphook was aware, or has been added earlier than in the original timeline.

Hermione stands still, searching with her eyes, apparently also remembering the scorching hot burns they got from last time. Harry catches sight of the goblet. It’s just as high up. He wonders how anyone is expected to collect anything from the vault if they’re inaccessible and can’t be summoned. Hermione seems to be considering the same thing. She stands with her hands clenched into fists at her side, staring up at the cup.

“Can you collect the item for me?” she finally asks the goblin.

It turns to stare at her with wide eyes and Harry realizes at the same time as Hermione that this is not the way things are done.

“Mr Lestrange?” the goblin enquires, an uncertain, but not, thankfully, a suspicious, note to his voice.

“I need you to collect that cup for me,” she demands, pointing. She stands her ground, and Harry would commend her, but the goblin is now narrowing his eyes.

“Mr Lestrange, a Gringotts goblin is not permitted to touch the treasure of a witch or wizard using the bank. I must insist you collect the treasure yourself.”

“Hmph,” Hermione says with her deep voice. Then she takes out Lestrange’s wand and performs a rudimentary floating charm on herself. It looks like the wand is resisting her, but she wrestles it under control.

Well high up into the air she floats closer to the cup and, with one fortifying breath, she grabs the cup. Perhaps only Harry, because he knows what she’s remembering, can see the shudder in her shoulders and the satisfied smirk when the cup doesn’t duplicate or burn her. She quickly stuffs it in her cloak and comes back down. She meets the eyes of the goblin and raises an eyebrow as if to say, _Well, what did you expect?_

She walks out of the vault, Harry close at her heels and watches the vault shut behind the reappearing wooden door again. Then she stops. Harry can’t see what she’s looking at, standing behind her as he is. The goblin rounds them, using the Clankers to keep the dragon away, motioning them on.

“If that was all, Mr Lestrange, come with me please,” he says, leading the way back to the cart.

Hermione, after another long moment’s pause, follows. Harry casts another glance at the pale dragon, shying away from the sound, and thinks he knows what she’s considering. He’s glad she decided to leave it be.

As they approach the cart, the goblin slows down, and he doesn’t immediately whistle for it to arrive. Hermione and Harry slow down as well. Harry raises his wand under the cloak, at the ready.

“Is something the matter?” Hermione demands when they come to a standstill.

“Are you sure you haven’t forgotten something, Mr Lestrange?” the goblin finally asks.

Harry holds his breath. What have they forgotten?

“And what would that be?” Hermione rumbles out, anger building in her voice in a convincing manner.

The goblin narrows his black eyes at Hermione and clicks his sharp teeth together with an angry snap.

“Nothing at all, then,” he replies and whistles.

Harry, sensing something is wrong, shuffles forward until he’s a hair’s breadth away from her and whispers in her ear, hoping the sound of the approaching cart will muffle his words:

“Something’s wrong.” Hermione stiffens. “I’m gonna cause a distraction. You get out if you can.”

She looks like she wants to argue but she has no way of doing so as the cart arrives. Harry has a moment of misgivings as she and the goblin boards the cart and he remains in the tunnel. He has heard the cautionary tales of how people have got lost in these caves. 

He waits until the cart jerks forward and starts moving, Hermione staring out into nothing, searching for someone she won’t find, and then he turns around and goes back the same way they came. 

He doesn’t have any Clankers with him and no one to make noise for him, so the dragon, more attuned to sound and smell, cocks its head, listening when Harry approaches. He tries to walk quietly but everything echoes in the caves and even his careful steps are easy to discern for the dragon. 

He doesn’t have to be very close, but he doesn’t want to risk missing, so he creeps along the wall, closer and closer until he can clearly make out the shackles around the dragon’s rear legs. He sticks his wand out from between the folds of the cloak and points his wand.

With a loud _clang_ the cuffs fall to the floor. It’s reminiscent of the Clankers but not similar enough for the dragon to react accordingly. Its long tail swishes, slamming into the walls of the cave with reverberating thumps but all gravel able to get loose from impact has since long already fallen to the floor.

_Come on_ , Harry thinks. _You’re free_. He doesn’t dare show himself or make any noise, afraid to alert the dragon to his exact whereabouts. Instead he points his wand to the tail of the beast and sends a small snapping spell. A second later the spot where the tail was, is scorched in fire and the dragon roars its fury.

As it stumbles away from the spot, it seems to realize its lack of restraints. Flexing and stomping its claw-like feet, it makes for the entrance. It passes by Harry who jumps aside to avoid being flattened, uncaring as it senses freedom close by. Harry sees it scratch the opening to make it bigger, sending jets of flames causing the cave walls to groan and break off. 

He watches another moment before taking off his cloak and stuffing it inside his clothes. Then he pictures the Phoenix in his mind’s eye and transforms into the large, red and gold bird. _Here goes nothing,_ he thinks desperately and flashes. Relief floods his systems when the apparition works. He appears a second later in the cart, only halfway up the tunnels. 

Hermione shrieks as he appears and the goblin rears back, almost falling out. Landing on a vehicle in full motion is disorienting, but Harry grips the sides of the cart with his claws and steadies himself. Harry coos once and Hermione stares at him with large eyes. Then a roar is heard from behind them, echoing hauntingly on the stone walls. Fire comes billowing out from the darkness and then Hermione grabs hold of Harry’s tail feathers and the goblin. 

Harry flashes again. He deposits the goblin a block away from the bank and then flashes him and Hermione away to Hogsmeade, up in the caves where Sirius once hid in Harry’s fourth year.

Hermione lands in a tumble on the floor as she lets go of his tail feathers. Harry flaps once and returns to his human form, falling the five feet or so to the ground and smacking his face into the stone floor. He groans, soothing his lip with his tongue. Hermione is already climbing to her feet.

“What did you do?” she yells, and Harry sits up. “Did- did you let loose the _dragon_?” she demands.

Harry nods reluctantly. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

“For old times’ sake,” he jokes weakly, but Hermione is giving him such a disapproving look that he gives it up. “They were on to us. We didn’t know what we missed so-”

“So you thought letting loose a dragon when we were still in the tunnels was a good idea?” she interrupts. “Did you even know if you could Apparate inside Gringotts?”

Harry doesn’t meet her eyes, giving him away.

“I was pretty sure. Besides, you wanted to do it, too!”

“How did you-?”

“I know you. And besides, it worked, didn’t it?”

Hermione must admit that it did, and grudgingly she nods.

“It was still incredibly dangerous.”

“You know me, I love walking on the safe side.”

“It’s not funny!” she says but she’s smiling, and Harry relaxes.

They get under the cloak again and walk back to the Shrieking Shack. By the time they get there, Hermione has calmed down a significant deal and they’re actually laughing.

“The dragon!” Hermione says, shaking her head. “I swear, sometimes it’s like you want to die.”

“Nah, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Harry answers, pulling off the cloak as he opens the door. Hermione hits him in the shoulder.

“That’s not funny!” she says again but she’s laughing full out now. 

Then she stops. Harry turns around to see what made her pause, and feels all breath leave his body. James, Sirius, Peter and Remus are sitting in the room, almost invisible in the dark shadows from the lightless space. When they hear Harry and Hermione arrive, they get to their feet. In one corner, Rodolphus Lestrange is still lying unconscious and bound up. Harry meets the eyes of his future father and the other Marauders. They look incredibly tense.

“I should say so,” James says.

“Care to give us some answers?” Sirius asks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry!


	21. Demands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which answers are demanded

_Harry turns around to see what made Hermione pause, and feels all breath leave his body. James, Sirius, Peter and Remus are sitting in the room, almost invisible in the dark shadows from the lightless space. When they hear Harry and Hermione arrive, they get to their feet. In one corner, Rodolphus Lestrange is still lying unconscious and bound up. Harry meets the eyes of his future father and the other Marauders._

_“Care to give us some answers?” Sirius asks._

Harry tenses, making an unconscious movement with his hands. The Marauders take this as a move to get his wand. A blink, and all six of them are standing, facing each other, with wands held high and pointed.

Nobody moves. Harry feels a drop of sweat run down his back.

“Why don’t we all just take a breath?” James says slowly, eyes flickering between Harry and Hermione.

Harry looks at him and sees an unusually serious expression on his face. Remus is looking at Hermione with desolate eyes, Peter is glaring daggers at Harry, and Sirius… Sirius is staring at Harry with mistrust and hatred, and it’s killing Harry.

He sighs and lowers his wand. The others tense but Harry just stuffs his wand back in his clothes. Hermione follows his lead after a second’s hesitation.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” he says to the others. They lower their wands but don’t put them away. “I’m not sure what you’re thinking right now, but I can almost guarantee you that you've got the wrong idea.”

“Then tell us what’s going on,” James says.

Harry walks fully into the room, shuffling Hermione in, too. The room is still dark and dreary, so he snaps his fingers, sending an orb of light to hover above them. It doesn’t make it any less ominous, but at least they can see each other. He shuts the door behind him, ignoring the worried glances the others exchange.

“Just stay there,” James says and points with his wand to the wall where Harry and Hermione stop.

“Tell us what is going on,” Sirius demands.

Harry and Hermione look at each other. Hermione looks utterly miserable. Harry swallows. His mouth is dry. He doesn’t want to Obliviate them. It doesn’t feel fair. He’s not sure he could point a wand at his godfather and fire a malicious spell if he wanted to. And he definitely doesn’t want to.

“All right,” he says and Hermione gasps. He tries to give her a reassuring look but he’s not sure he manages to get his message across. Her eyes are very wide. “I’m an Auror,” he says truthfully. Always stick as closely to the truth as possible.

“Graphorn crap!” Sirius exclaims. “You’re no older than us! D’you really expect us to believe you’re an actual Auror?”

Harry stares back at him, a calm coming over him that he can’t really explain. As soon as he decided to give them a cover story, it’s as if the words are already there, ready and formed to go.

“Yes. We’re undercover. Obviously we had to blend in-”

“What’re you doing undercover at Hogwarts?” James asks, sounding confused, rather than unbelieving.

“It’s basically a recruitment ground for You-Know-Who. Albus needs eyes on the ground,” Harry explains.

“Dumbledore?” Sirius asks.

“I thought you saw us speaking to him?” Harry asks, half-amused, half-worried. “Obviously the Ministry can’t send in Aurors into Hogwarts without the explicit consent of the Headmaster.”

“What about you?” Remus asks, speaking for the first time, but still looking at Hermione. “Do you also work for the Ministry?”

“Oh, er, yes, I do,” Hermione answers, a little startled to be addressed. Harry wonders, in an odd sort of out-of-body experience of amusement, how even the truth can sound like a lie when she’s unsettled. “Went straight into the program after graduation.”

Harry notices she doesn’t mention which program. Of course, it’s all true. She did undergo a program post her final year at Hogwarts, just not the Auror one.

“How come none of us recognize you? You’ll have attended Hogwarts at least some years with us. There’s no way you’re that old!”

Before Harry has time to answer, a small shuffling sound can be heard from the entrance leading back to the school. They all pause to look in that direction. Harry is relieved when he recognizes the midnight blue robes of Professor Dumbledore. He appears looking none the worse for wear for having supposedly crawled through the pathway all the way from Hogwarts. 

The Marauders all exclaim in different variations at seeing the Headmaster.

“Good morning,” he tells his students, calm and polite as ever. Harry truly envies his unruffled way of approaching everything. “Mr Jameson, Miss Granger,” he then turns to greet Harry and Hermione.

“Professor,” Harry nods back. 

“Now, why don’t we all take a seat to figure out this little misunderstanding, hm?” he asks and flicks his wand, creating a large, cosy chair for each of them. 

Harry and Hermione both sit down as Dumbledore does. The Marauders remain standing.

“It’s not a misunderstanding, Professor!” James says, raising his voice. “They’ve snuck out of the school multiple times and they’ve been saying strange things!”

“Ah, I see,” says Dumbledore and looks at James. It takes a moment before James realizes what he has said and blushes.

“They told us they’re working on your orders!” Sirius chimes in when James goes quiet.

“Yes, indeed,” Dumbledore says. “I trust everything went all right?” he asks, turning to Harry and Hermione.

“Yes, we’ve got it,” Harry answers and smiles, a little wanly.

“Good,” Dumbledore nods, pleased. “I heard some odd rumours before coming here that had me swallowing my morning tea down the wrong pipe. I think I scared the other teachers quite badly I’m afraid,” he says, smiling all the while. “You don’t happen to have any input on that, would you?”

“Depends on what rumours that might have been,” Harry says, avoidantly.

“Something about an escaped dragon in Gringotts,” Dumbledore says, eyes twinkling madly.

“Surely they wouldn’t keep a dragon down there in the caves?” Harry asks, with mock shock. “That’s inhumane! Dragons need air and hunting grounds and such things.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore says. He swishes his wand, and a brand-new pot of tea appears before them. “Nevertheless, would you care for some tea now? I found myself quite bereft.”

Harry takes his cup, watching in amusement as the Marauders all take theirs as well, too polite to protest their Headmaster. They also reluctantly sit down in the chairs. Sirius keeps his wand in one hand, doing some quite frankly impressive tea sipping with his other, balancing the saucer on his pinkie finger.

A few moments pass when Dumbledore drinks his tea, looking around in the dreadful room with the look of someone politely being shown around a friend’s new house.

“They said they were Aurors, working on your orders!” James exclaims finally, having swallowed down his tea much too fast and no doubt burning his tongue in the process, a certain breathy quality to his voice.

Harry is quite relieved they seem to have jumped to the Auror conclusion. No need to tell a lie when the audience, given the right circumstances, will come up with their own answer.

“And so they are,” Dumbledore responds. “Mm, rose and lemon, one of my favourites,” he continues and smacks his lips with relish.

“But they look no older than us!” Sirius argues.

“Believe it or not, Mr Jameson and Miss Granger are fairly capable wizards,” Dumbledore explains, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “They’re quite good with concealment charms and glamours.”

This seems to stump the others. Harry doesn’t think it’s quite fair to tell them this. He hasn’t used any such thing, and Hermione only used a light glamour the first month, before slowly reducing it to nothing, confident the others will have grown used to her looks.

“But the man!” Peter squeaks and Harry jumps, having forgotten he is here. “There’s an unconscious man here!” he says, pointing.

Rodolphus Lestrange is still motionless. It seems Peter has been gearing up to point this out for quite some time.

“Yes,” Dumbledore agrees. “On my orders. Naturally.”

“But-!”

“Despite working undercover at the school, Mr Jameson and Miss Granger both still have jobs at the Ministry and must perform certain tasks outside of it sometimes. It’s not ideal, I admit, but needs must. I’ve also been quite explicit that they mustn’t bring anyone dangerous onto school grounds.”

No one is particularly close to the unconscious man, but Peter still gives Rodolphus Lestrange a new sort of wary glance. James doesn’t, not satisfied with the answers given.

“But, Professor-!”

“I think, if that is all, that we should head back to the school before anyone starts missing us. I believe I have a staff meeting this afternoon that I must prepare.”

Dumbledore stands up and Harry and Hermione follow suit.

“Professor, will you…?” Harry asks, indicating the unconscious Lestrange with a motion of his head.

“Indeed. The authorities will be here shortly. You should go along, and I’ll make sure they receive him properly.”

They nod and crawl down in the tunnel back to the school. They’re followed by the Marauders. No one says a word in the tunnel and when they get out from the Whomping Willow, Hermione pressing the knob to make it still, they march in continued silence up to the castle.

~o~o~o~o~

Sirius manages to keep quiet all the way up to the Gryffindor Tower where they all gather in the Boys’ Dormitory.

“You’re Aurors?!” he exclaims just as soon as the door is shut. Harry and Hermione both flinch but Sirius can’t moderate his voice right now, excitement still ringing through his body like shockwaves. “That is so cool!”

“Wha-” Harry manages to get out before he and Hermione are shuffled to the bed and unceremoniously pushed down.

“Tell us everything!” Sirius says, and crawls up next to the pair, barely stopping himself from grabbing hold of their lapels to wring the words from their lips. “What’re your real names? How old are you? Can you do really impressive magic? Can you show us?”

James isn’t much better, “Incredible! You can give us tips for the entrance test or even better, put in a good word for us in the program!”

“No wonder you beat me in Defence!” Sirius exclaims, remembering the humiliating moments when Hermione put him on his back.

“Oh!” James yells in response, eyes wide with delight. “I beat an Auror!” he crows, a smug grin breaking across his face. Then he seems to come to the conclusion that Harry probably let him win, and his shoulders slump in disappointment. “Oh, I was outsmarted. Well, no matter! I’ll get better and next time you won’t hold back!”

Remus seems to be more subdued, not asking questions, although that isn’t new, but keeping a neutral mask. Sirius wonders if he is thinking about Hermione and how powerful a glamour she has been wearing. He casts a quick look at Harry and wonders the same thing. How old is this man sitting in front of them?

It takes a few minutes for the excitement to simmer down to a containable level of anticipation. Harry and Hermione aren’t really answering their questions either, which he thinks must be fixed.

“So,” he says and the new quality to his voice seems to signal to the others to listen. “That’s quite an impressive secret you’ve managed to keep from us,” he says, ignoring the suspiciously sounding snort coming from Remus. “But now we know, so now you can tell us. Right?” he tacks on, almost a plea.

Harry shakes his head, “Sorry, no. We’re still not supposed to tell anyone, and the less you know the better. For your own safety.” Sirius snorts and Harry gives him such a stern glare he has to bite back an apology. “You should be glad we aren’t Obliviating you, because that is standard procedure when someone uncovers our real identities.”

“Why haven’t you?” Remus asks, coming to sit on the bed opposite. “Isn’t it a liability if we know?”

“Hey!” Sirius intervenes. “Don’t give them any ideas!”

Remus sighs. “It’s not like they won’t have thought about it already.”

All right, fair. But still! Why risk it? He doesn’t say any of this but instead turns back to Harry and Hermione for their answers.

“Well,” Harry says, chewing his lip. “We trust you.” He hesitates a little as he says this, letting his gaze sweep over the occupants of the room, lingering a little on Peter who has sat down in a corner looking sullen. 

Sirius preens a little at these words, pride swelling in his chest.

“Yeah, you can trust us! We’re good with secrets!”

He doesn’t quite manage to avoid the kick James sends his way, and glares at him. James gives him a _look_ and clears his throat.

“Thanks for the confidence,” he says. “It must be nice to know you can relax around a few more people. It must be exhausting keeping up pretences all the time.”

Harry and Hermione exchange another one of their looks, one which makes a little more sense now. It’s still annoying how they don’t share, though, Sirius thinks, who is used to him and James and the other two sharing everything. Especially looks!

“Absolutely,” Hermione says and smiles. “Just don’t mention this to anyone else or anywhere there are other people around.”

“Of course!” Sirius says immediately.

“You can trust us!” James chimes in.

Remus and Peter say nothing but Remus nods solemnly.

“So, can you show us some awesome magic they only teach you in the program now?” James says eagerly.

Harry laughs. “No, I’m sorry. The magic we’re doing in class is perfectly enough to keep you occupied for the remaining term, I think.”

“Oh come on!”

“If you ask very kindly, Hermione can show you some of the textbooks you’ll be required to read, but I don’t think you actually need any more homework.”

They shake their heads and Sirius slopes down in disappointment. They won’t come into the Auror program looking masterful and brilliant, already knowing everything there is to know. No, instead they’ll have to do more homework, like everybody else. So unfair!

~o~o~o~o~

When they go to bed that night, Sirius tries to catch a glimpse of Harry as he changes into night clothes, but whatever glamour he is wearing seems to be all-covering. Not even a slight compulsion charm to make him look away. Instead it’s almost the other way as Sirius drinks in the sight of revealed skin. 

Harry has another scar on his arm, running all the way from his wrist to his elbow. It looks like it must have hurt for it to leave such a large remaining scar that magical healing hasn’t been able to mend.

Other than that, he’s thin and lanky, like most boys their age. A little bit more muscle in his legs, typical of any Quidditch player, Sirius knows. Thick quads and calves. Knobbly knees, almost like James’.

A thin stripe of hair trails from Harry’s navel down to his pants. Absentmindedly, Sirius touches the spot on his own stomach.

James elbows him sharply in the side. Sirius turns to him, anger blossoming, but James rolls his eyes. Ah, perhaps don’t stare at the half-naked guy for too long. Harry seems unbothered, pulling a nightshirt over his head and taking off his glasses. Sirius quickly turns back to his own night routine, still contemplating scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Safe! for now...


	22. The Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which blunders are made and realizations are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments! Real life is insane right now but I'm trying to both answer your comments and continue writing so I can keep posting every Friday. Even if I don't answer very quickly, just know I read them, love them and that they keep me going. Thank you <3
> 
> On to the story!

The full moon is approaching and Hermione wonders if they should bring it up with the Marauders. They haven’t been told about Remus’ condition, but ever since Hermione managed to transform into her Animagus form, she has been itching to join and help. Remus is starting to look haggard, alternating between eating in bursts of seemingly endless appetite and staring desolately at his plate unable to touch the food.

“They haven’t told us about it yet,” Harry tells her when she brings it up.

“We could ask them,” she says, giving Remus a look across the Gryffindor Common Room. He is writing an essay which Hermione has promised to proofread for him when he’s finished. He seems to be having trouble concentrating, though, and keeps looking out through the window to the gloomy dark night.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Harry says. “We need them to trust us, and telling them we know of his condition is going to do the exact opposite.”

“I really thought they would tell us after they ‘found out’ about us.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Nothing more is said about the subject, but Hermione keeps thinking about it. She tries to coax him into eating when it looks like he won’t manage to get anything down, and she keeps by his side when the others disappear to practice Quidditch.

“I have to study Charms,” Remus says to her on Thursday afternoon. “I didn’t expect Flitwick to set up a practical this early, and I’m behind on the classwork.”

“I’ll join you. I’ve got some things I need to revise, too.”

Remus hesitates but then nods, looking at her shyly. “I’d be happy for the company.”

They take their spot, and Hermione is surprised to realize they have a spot, having been here often enough. Remus sets up their table while Hermione goes to collect a book she needs. When she gets back, she notices their chairs have been placed rather close to each other. Her heart flutters a little as she sets the book down and gets into her seat. Remus is sitting perfectly still next to her, staring blankly at the text in front of him, obviously not taking in a word.

“I’m surprised there’s not more people here,” Hermione says in an attempt to reassure him.

“Overconfidence or wilful negligence,” Remus says, a wry smile so reminiscent of the one she recognizes from the Lupin of her time.

“I suppose,” she says. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He lets out a little breath and she bites her lip, wondering if she went too far. She pulls up her scrolls rather gruffly, the thick parchment almost ripping in her hurry.

“Yeah, me too,” Remus says, and she pauses to look at him. His eyes are warm, and she gets stuck staring at them. 

After a moment, far too long, Remus clears his throat and Hermione blushes and breaks the connection to look down on her parchment. It takes a few seconds to notice it’s upside down.

“Hermione,” Remus says quickly, and she snaps back up to look at him. He hesitates. “Would you, er… I mean… Would you maybe like to sometime perhaps go out with me maybe?”

Hermione stares at him, mouth agape and her face growing warm. Remus almost backtracks but then Hermione manages to get a grip of herself and smiles.

“I’d love to!” she says and enjoys the beam he sends her.

“Really? All right, yes, good. Er…” 

“When’s good for you?” she asks.

“Anytime,” he answers immediately and then blushes and they laugh a little, in relief of the tension. “I mean, this weekend, how’s that?”

Hermione is just about to say _yes, of course, absolutely_ , when the date clicks in her mind.

“Isn’t that right after the full moon? Won’t you be tired?” she asks, concerned.

He doesn’t answer and all colour drains away from his face. She wonders what she did wrong when it dawns on her what she just said. He hasn’t told her about his lycanthropy yet.

“How do you-” Remus chokes out.

“Remus, I’m sorry!”

He tries to get more words out, but it appears as if his throat has constricted too much. Finally, he shakes his head and stands up. 

“Remus, please,” she says, not sure what she wants to say, or what she wants him to say. She’s spared from having to decide because he says nothing. He tries to gather his things, but his fingers are trembling too much and eventually he just takes his wand and goes. 

Hermione stares helplessly as he exits the library, leaving her sitting alone at the large table that has become theirs. She swallows back the tears that attempt to fill her eyes. She’s furious with herself. How could she be so careless?!

With numb fingers she packs away their things. He’ll want them later. If he won’t accept them from her, she’ll give them to Harry to give to him. She mentally stumbles. Oh, Harry. She wonders if Remus will shun him, too, now. If he’ll tell the others. If James and Sirius will become angry and resentful at them for having kept this from them. They very graciously forgave them for having lied about their backstory, but this is different. This is _their_ secret that she has now so carelessly relayed.

She stuffs the last quill back in her bag, not caring if the feather is bent irreparably. She stalks off. She doesn’t have the map, but she can hazard a guess where Harry will be.

Outside it has grown dark. She almost stumbles several times on her way to the Quidditch pitch, but she doesn’t light her wand. The darkness suits her fine right now.

Harry is not alone. He sits and watches the Gryffindor House Team practice, head resting on his forearms as he’s bent over the railing, watching a certain figure doing acrobatics on his broom. She wonders if Harry knows how much his face is revealing in this unguarded moment. She guesses not.

She sits down next to him quietly. He murmurs a quiet hello, not letting his gaze drop from Sirius.

“Harry,” she says, her voice unsteady. His head snaps up to look at her, concern flooding his face. “I think I ruined it,” she whispers.

“What?” he asks, not understanding. “What happened?”

“I spoke to Remus,” she tells him. “And I accidentally let slip that I knew about the werewolf thing.

To his credit, Harry doesn’t look suspicious, as if she had done it on purpose. He only looks sad.

“I take it he didn’t react well?”

She shakes her head, not trusting her voice. He pulls an arm around her and she buries her face in his chest. She’s humiliated when she feels tears slip out despite trying her best to keep them away. Why is she crying anyway? So stupid.

“It’s all right,” Harry murmurs and pats her back and she sobs. “He’ll come around, once he realizes how amazing you are. He’d be a fool not to.”

“What if he doesn’t? I’ve lied to him so many times. How could he ever trust me?”

“He knows why, though,” Harry says rationally. “Or at least he thinks he does, and it’s sort of true even if the specifics are different.”

Hermione can’t speak. She doesn’t know how to continue, but Harry doesn’t seem to expect her to. He just keeps petting her. 

When the sobs have died down, she keeps her face hidden in his cloak.

“He’ll probably tell the others,” she says so quietly she wonders if she’ll have to say it again.

“I’ll assume so,” Harry says lightly and Hermione flinches. “It’s probably for the best,” he reassures her. “I’ve thought about it and I don’t think they would have told us. We’re too new, too much of a wild card. Especially now they think we’re Aurors. They’d pretty much be admitting to breaking the law. Remus wouldn’t ask that of them, and James and the others would never risk him like that. They only have a few moons left at Hogwarts. Maybe after that it’ll be easier, but not now.”

“But then what are we going to tell them if they think we’ll report them?”

“I’m thinking we’ll say that it doesn’t involve our assignment, so it doesn’t matter, which is entirely true.”

Hermione closes her eyes. Maybe, she thinks. Maybe that will work.

They stay to watch the rest of the practice. Hermione can’t help worrying about when it will end, when Sirius and James will meet up with Remus and he will tell them. She wonders if they’ll confront them or if they’ll turn suspicious again. Remus warmed up considerably after the ‘truth’ came out about them. It didn’t escape Harry or her notice that they started trailing them for most of last term, and she did wonder if they would stop once they found out. She was glad Remus chose instead to spend time with her, without ulterior motives this time.

The two Chasers don’t come over to chat after the practice ends. James takes one look at them and, probably noting Hermione’s puffy face and the warning in Harry’s eyes, grabs hold of Sirius’ elbow, leading him away from them.

They let them leave. The lights shut off a few minutes later. Harry must have performed a warming charm because it’s not cold despite being late March and past nightfall. The stars are slowly turning visible.

“It’s strange to be here, isn’t it?” she says, although it’s not really a question, more of an observation. “Seeing all these people that should be dead.”

“Yes,” Harry agrees. “I don’t think they should be dead, though.”

“Oh, Harry. I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.”

He shakes his head, unconcerned. “I know. That’s not what I meant either. I just mean, You-Know-Who is the abomination, you know? He’s the one breaking the laws of nature. He’s the one that should be dead. Not these people. I think they should live out their lives, happily, and unaware of the darkness that shouldn’t exist.”

Hermione contemplates this. He has a point. Even in a climate festered with beliefs of blood purity, it would never have got this bad this fast if they didn’t have Voldemort to rally behind. She wonders if it would have grown, instead, slower and more sinister, until there were no clear lines anymore. When there wasn’t a ‘bad guy’ to fight, but only a society so grievously divided there could be no mending. She hopes she’ll never have to find out.

“Do you think we’ll ever get back?” she asks. She has all but given up on finding a way of getting back to the future; the horcrux hunt has taken up all the space, both in her head and her schedule. She still thinks, daydreams really, about when they’re finished. Maybe then she’ll have time and resources to really start searching for a way. She imagines Lupin’s face when she gets back. She imagines he will smile at her. Perhaps be a little bit unwilling at first, but she’ll set him straight.

Harry pulls away from her and she looks at him. “No,” he says. His brows have dipped low on his forehead and his mouth is open. “No, Hermione. There’s no way back.”

“What?” she asks, uncomprehending. “We just haven’t found a way yet, Harry. I’m sure there’s-”

“No, there is _no way back_ ,” he enunciates. “I told you, I researched this very well before going. This is a one-way trip. I’m sorry, I thought you knew. I thought you had understood, that that’s why you gave up the research.”

Hermione’s mind is swirling. _No way back no way back no way back_. On repeat it goes. Black spots appear in her periphery and she realizes she hasn’t been breathing. She gasps in breaths, but the air doesn’t seem to reach her lungs.

“Hermione, please breathe,” Harry says, gripping her shoulders. “Slowly.”

The flickering recedes. Harry is staring at her. She’s not ready to look at him yet. She looks at her clasped hands in her lap instead. She has squeezed them so hard together her nails have carved into her skin.

“What about everyone we left behind?” she asks in a very small voice. “What about the Weasleys? My parents? Luna? Neville? What about Ron?” her voice cracks.

“I meant to go alone,” Harry says, not able to meet her eyes. “You were never supposed to know.”

“That doesn’t make it better!” she yells. She would cry, she thinks, but she doesn’t have any tears left. “How could you just leave them? How could you leave them and not even say goodbye?”

“It won’t have happened,” he says.

She will really hurt him, she thinks, distantly, rage flaring up. “It will still have happened to you!”

“I know,” he mumbles. “It’s better this way.”

“How can you say that?!”

“Because we can make things better, give everyone the life they deserve.”

“Everyone except you?”

“I’ll get it, too. I just won’t… be me, kind of.”

“What?”

Harry looks a little uncomfortable as he explains, “I mean, I’m assuming my mom and dad will still get me, you know, baby me.”

Horror fills Hermione.

“You mean you’ll exist simultaneously as your younger self?”

“Yeah, I guess?”

Hermione’s brain is working in overdrive trying to understand the ramifications of this. She thought their one small mercy in all this was that at least they had time. Time to get back, time before their present selves were born. Instead, they’re actively working towards that point.

~o~o~o~o~

Remus’ thoughts are still whirling by the time he gets back to the Gryffindor Tower. He sits and stares at the bed curtains, unseeing, while he waits for the world to right itself. Surely this didn’t happen. Surely Hermione didn’t know about his- his _condition_. Surely, she hadn’t casually mentioned it as if it didn’t bother her, as if it didn’t change anything. Didn’t change _everything_.

He’s still sitting there, unable to think a single coherent thought, when James and Sirius come barging in. They have their brooms slung over their shoulders and are talking in an unusually subdued way. They stop as they come into the dorm and spot Remus.

“What happened to you?” James asks. “You look as bad as Hermione.”

“She knows,” Remus whispers.

“What?” Sirius says, dumping his broom on his bed and coming to sit cross-legged at the feet of Remus’ bed. “What do you mean ‘she knows’? What does she know?”

“She knows a- about me,” Remus manages, voice almost breaking from the tension in it. The other two stop in shock. James is halfway to sit on his own bed and he looks almost comical with large eyes and open mouth, unable to come up with a good reply. “She mentioned it like a by-the-way. I don't even think she meant to say it.” He grips his hair. “How can she know and not be _repulsed_ by me?”

James finally unfreezes and comes over to gently detangle his fingers from his hair, replacing them with his own, gentle carding. 

“I think it’s time you realized that your condition doesn’t define you, Moony. The people who know you aren’t going to let something like a pesky case of lycanthropy get in the way of being your friend.”

Remus tries to hide the flinch when James says the word. It’s one they’ve by silent agreement never used. Not since the others found out. It’s always his _furry little problem_ or his _monthly excursions_ or something equally frivolous and downplayed. Not the real word. Not the one that describes his wretchedness in undeniable bluntness.

“Yeah,” Sirius says, patting his foot. “Haven’t you figured that out by now, stupid?”

Remus tries to laugh but it comes out strangled, so he shuts his mouth quickly.

“It’s different with you, though, isn’t it? You’ve known me since I was a kid. She’s just been here a couple of months.”

“I guess you must have made an impression, huh?”

“How can you both take this so lightly? She knows about me, she knows I’m a m-monster! She should be terrified!”

He jerks when Sirius flicks his forehead. He doesn’t have time to ask what that was for before Sirius interrupts.

“You’re not allowed to use that word,” he says. Remus looks up at him and is surprised to see real anger in his eyes. “Not about yourself. Not ever.”

“But it’s what I a-”

Remus stops when Sirius flicks him again.

“Not. Ever.”

Remus swallows. He knows what he is. He knows the disease running through his blood, knows the danger he is to everyone around him. Seeing both Sirius and James looking at him perfectly serious makes him shut his mouth. It’s enough, he thinks. It’s enough that they think he’s not a monster, even though they know the truth. Even though they’re wrong.

When he gives a small nod, James ruffles his hair and Sirius pats his foot. He soaks up the warmth and thinks about how lucky he is to have friends like them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petition to give Remus some self-esteem as an early birthday present?


	23. Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...of varying quality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who spent their Friday night hanging out with her friends and rather forgot to plan ahead for the posting of this chapter?
> 
> Anyways, here's some flangst!

When Harry sees it, it’s just a small notice in the Daily Prophet, almost buried beneath the advertisement for a new bake-oven that will ‘never burn a single crumb’. He swallows pumpkin juice down the wrong pipe. Coughing through a fit where both Sirius and James slap his back heartily to help him breathe, he almost forgets about it. Then he sees the wet newspaper and the barely noticeable text, and he remembers again.

_Damocles Belby  
launches new potion   
to reduce symptoms of   
lycanthropy_.

Harry picks the soaking wet paper up and waves it at Hermione. She looks at him, concerned and takes the paper. She scans the page and looks up with a bright smile.

“Oh, this is wonderful!” she says. Harry nods at her, unable to contain his own smile. This is truly great news.

They gather their things, ignoring the startled looks from James and Sirius, and marches at a half-sprint towards the Headmaster’s Tower.

Their werewolf friend isn’t with them today, staying cooped up in Madam Pomfrey's gentle care. They have gathered it was a tough moon, going by the deep circles under the other Marauders’ eyes and the wary looks they keep sending. This will hopefully change all that.

~o~o~o~o~

“What do you think that was about?” Sirius asks, looking a little forlornly at the exit from the Great Hall where Harry and Hermione disappeared through.

James shrugs, and spears another sausage.

“No time to think about it. We’ve got Quidditch practice. Eat your breakfast.”

“Hm,” Sirius says and munches slowly on his porridge. 

He can’t quite let it go, though. Harry looked so happy, and it’s a look that doesn’t often grace his handsome features.

They brought the Daily Prophet with them, though, so he can’t read to see what caught their eye.

His thoughts are interrupted when Lily and Peter come into the Great Hall and join them. Lily gives James a sweet kiss. Sirius wrinkles his nose. Ew. Peter is looking pale and tired, like a small gust of wind would topple him over.

“Morning,” James says to Peter, offering him and Lily each a cup of coffee. “Sleep well?”

Peter grunts and sips his coffee. Lily beams and starts telling them about a dream she had. Something about birds. Sirius zones out.

He’s still contemplating Harry when they get their brooms and head out to the Quidditch Pitch. In the beginning of May they’ll meet Ravenclaw, and James is running them ragged with strategies and workout schedules. He’s only listening with half an ear as James goes over the possible plays they’ll meet.

“So, if it’s raining, we’ll be at an advantage because their Chasers have proved terrible in bad weather conditions.”

“Won’t we also have problems if it’s raining?” their Seeker, Ruxon, asks. “I can hardly see the Snitch if it’s any worse than a light dribble.”

“Which is why we’ll focus on goal scoring if it comes to that. And Ravenclaw will most likely try to catch the Snitch as quickly as possible. However!” he yells when Ruxon looks ready to argue. “If it’s clear skies, like today, we’ll want to catch the Snitch as quickly as possible, because their Chaser trio is _formidable_.”

Sirius looks up at the stands, wondering if Harry will come and watch. He has been to every game this year, cheering wildly for Gryffindor, dragging along Hermione, Remus and Peter. This is just practice, though, and even if Harry is mostly in the stands for those as well, Sirius can’t really expect him to come to every one of their practices. Which is why he can’t help the rush of happiness he feels when he finds the little dot of black hair up in the stands.

“All right, let’s go,” James says, and everyone mounts their brooms.

Sirius is keeping half an eye on Harry at all times during the game. He thinks he goes unnoticed but after they’ve been at it for a good two hours and James sends them off, he cuffs Sirius hard over the head.

“Could you keep your attention on the Pitch for one single practice that would be great,” James says, looking irritated, when Sirius jumps with a ‘Hey!’ on his lips.

“What?” he asks instead.

“If he’s distracting you this much, I have half a mind to tell him not to come to the match,” James says, and Sirius is already shaking his head. “Well, then get your head straight and figure it out.” With those words he leaves, not even bothering to change out of his flying robes.

Sirius scratches his head, wondering what brought that on. Then he turns to the place where bystanders will come down from the stands, and meets Harry halfway.

“Heya, Harry,” he says, sliding around on his broom until he’s hanging upside down. His blood is rushing towards his head and he grins, probably a bit madly, at Harry who raises an eyebrow at him. “How’s it hanging?”

“More or less steadily,” Harry replies. Then he jumps up and grabs hold of the broom shaft and pulls it downward.

Sirius, who is not prepared for the shift in balance, yelps and slides down the shaft until he topples down on the ground.

“Hey!” he yells, indignantly. “What’d’you do that for?”

Harry laughs outright at him and keeps walking, leaving Sirius to scramble to his feet and hurry after.

“That is for being distracted during practice and for not listening to your captain and for treating Quidditch like it’s your personal play time.”

“You sound like James,” Sirius sulks as he catches up to Harry, who pauses to look at him with wide eyes, and Sirius quickly backtracks. “I mean, yeah, no, I know. I’ll keep better focus next time.”

“See that you do.” Harry turns back to where he’s going, a small smile tugging on his lips.

Sirius thinks on James’ words to him. _Figure it out_. He takes a deep breath and plunges into the breach.

“But how can you expect me to focus when I know you’re up there, watching me play, eh? You’re more of a distraction than a poltergeist in a museum.”

Sirius pretends not to notice when Harry comes to an abrupt halt.

“What?” Harry asks.

“What?” Sirius says nonchalantly, briefly turning to check his expression before turning back.

“You said I’m…” Harry’s voice falters until it disappears. Sirius wishes he would finish his sentence. Or start a new one. He doesn’t know how to continue. “Never mind.”

Oh.

They walk in silence for two seconds before Sirius launches himself into a spectacular story about him and the other Marauders and what they’ve been up to during a few memorable summer breaks. 

By the time they reach the castle, Harry is laughing so much, he’s hitching for breath. He has a beautiful blush in his cheeks and his eyes are sparkling. Sirius’ breath catches in his throat when he sees it. When Harry notices him staring, he stops laughing and they just stare at each other for a moment. 

“Er…” Harry says.

“Um,” Sirius says.

“Well,” Harry says.

“I-” Sirius says. 

Then Harry giggles. A delightful sound that Sirius wants to hear again and again and possibly forever. Sirius then lets out a sound that to his horror realizes is a giggle. Then they’re laughing again. They keep on laughing until they have no more air, until all awkwardness is gone, and they’re left standing opposite each other.

Sirius notes for the thousandth time how green Harry’s eyes are. He doesn’t notice how he’s leaning in. He just notes how it’s growing harder to keep Harry in focus with how large and green his eyes are. Without meaning to, his gaze drops down to Harry’s lips, which are open, and panting hot sweet air onto Sirius.

“Sirius,” Harry whispers. Harry is looking at Sirius’ lips, too.

“Harry,” Sirius breathes back. It’s not a conscious decision, but he’s coming closer to Harry. Less than an inch apart.

Then Harry launches himself backwards, breaking the tension, breaking the _whatever_ that was between them.

“Sorry!” Harry blurts, backing away with his hands raised. “I’ve got to- er,” he looks wildly around himself. “Study!” he finally yells. “See ya!”

Like a bucket of ice-cold water was dropped over Sirius’ head, he watches Harry literally _run_ away from him. Well, at least that answers that question, he thinks miserably.

He can’t quite make himself return to the common room yet. James is sure to be angry with him still and he doesn’t want to talk to anyone else.

So he walks to the Owlery where he is sure he’ll be alone.

~o~o~o~o~

Harry’s heart is beating so fast he’s not sure it won’t break through his ribcage. _What was that_ , he thinks, rather hysterically, as he rushes to the seventh floor. That was Sirius, handsome, beautiful, confident, brilliant Sirius, looking at him, Harry, like he wanted to- But surely not. 

He walks past the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy thrice, before opening the door to the Room of Requirement. The sight of the calm place where he and Hermione have spent endless hours planning and discussing different routes and strategies is comforting to him. 

He sits down in one of the comfortable armchairs. The fire is already lit. Slowly his heart calms down. But the look in Sirius’ eyes when he leant forward is still lingering in his mind. 

Harry remembers the warmth in those eyes from his godfather he lost in the future. The warm hands that would ruffle his hair or clap his shoulder. The calming voice that would explain that Harry could never ever be evil. The protective note when he said ‘Get away from my godson’. When he offered Harry a place to stay, away from the Dursleys. His heart constricts.

It’s not really the same Sirius he has got to know here, though, is it? He admits to himself, alone in the room with the burning fire, that it is not really the same at all. This young man, handsome and clever, who plays pranks and makes jokes, is quite far removed from the old man, mad and broken, who Harry was so happy to get to know in the future. His only remaining family who loved him and cared what happened to him. This Sirius is years away from becoming that, and, if Harry has his way, never will.

This Sirius will live long and happy. He will never know the despair of Dementors. He will never be forced to listen to Walburga Black’s abuse again. He will never be shut inside, removed from his friends and unable to enjoy life at its fullest.

He will be able to look at people and imagine a future with them. 

Harry’s heart aches. He fists the fabric of his robes across his heart.

“Oh!” Hermione says from the doorway and Harry looks up, startled. 

“What?” he asks.

“I just couldn’t find you anywhere and James said Quidditch practice ended long ago.”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry about that. I needed to be alone for a bit,” Harry explains, unable to meet her eyes.

“Okay. Well, I’ll see you at lunch.” She turns to go, but Harry suddenly doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

“Hermione, wait!”

“What?” she asks, turning back, cautiously. She still hasn’t forgiven him for not telling her about their one-way ticket to the past. He’s quite surprised she went looking for him, in fact.

“I wondered if you could help me?” he asks.

“What is it? Has something happened? Something with the timeline?” She looks so worried and he immediately feels bad.

“No, nothing like that,” he’s quick to reassure. “It’s about Sirius.” Her demeanour changes at once. Harry hurries to get his words out before she leaves. “He and I sort of talked on the way back from Quidditch practice and-” Harry licks his lips, unable to continue.

“So what? You talk all the time,” Hermione says, voice brisk.

“Yeah, but this time was different. He told me I was distracting, and he gave me this really intense look and I swear, Hermione, it was like he was going to…” he trails off, not knowing how to finish the sentence.

“I’m confident you can figure it out,” Hermione says. “I’m not sure why you’re telling me this, actually.”

“Because you’re the smartest person I know,” he replies.

“Well, maybe it’s time you start figuring things out yourself.”

“But I don’t know what to do about this,” Harry says, feeling a mounting sense of despair. He is completely helpless without Hermione’s steadying voice to tell him the facts. “He’s my godfather and he-”

“You should have thought of that before you set out to change history, then, shouldn’t you?”

“Hermione!” Harry says, indignant. “You know that’s not-”

“If you’re so clever you can decide the fate of your life along with the rest of the Wizarding World, I’m sure you can figure this out.” With those resounding words, she slams the door to the Room of Requirement and is gone. 

~o~o~o~o~

Harry doesn’t know who to talk to. His first choice, after Hermione, is Sirius, but that is out, for obvious reasons. Finally he settles on asking Remus. They don’t have a very close relationship, but he trusts him and knows he has a sound logic.

It doesn’t go quite as planned, though, as Remus seems beyond uncomfortable talking to him and keeps looking away.

“You should talk to James,” Remus eventually gets out and flees.

Looking after him, Harry wonders what is going on there. Giving Remus’ advice a little thought, he decides it’s his best bet. It doesn’t stop his palms from sweating when he catches up to James on the way out from Transfiguration on a Wednesday. 

“Could I talk to you for a second?” he asks James who smiles after a moment of confusion.

Remus, Lily and Hermione are off to Ancient Runes and Sirius scrams after James tells him to, but not before giving them both a deeply suspicious look.

“What’s the matter, Harry?” James asks once Sirius it out of earshot.

Suddenly second-doubting himself, Harry is contemplating making up a lame excuse and just getting out of there. James is giving him a kind, coaxing smile, though, and Harry suddenly feels brave.

“I, er, it’s about Sirius,” Harry finally manages to squeeze out.

James looks worried. From one second to the next, his whole demeanour changes. He plants a hand on Harry’s shoulder, leading them into a partially hidden alcove Harry didn’t even notice before.

“What’s the matter with Sirius?” he asks, in a forcibly calm voice. “Has someone from his family contacted him? Has he told you anything?”

Harry gapes at him. This intensity is new. He quickly shakes his head when the hand on his shoulder squeezes him harder, bringing him back to the now.

“No, nothing like that,” he says, and James' intensity recedes quite a bit. He still remains tense, though. “I was just wondering if he, you know, is seeing anyone?” Harry forces himself to say. He can feel his face heating up. This was a terrible idea. He wonders if he can just yell ‘Gotcha’ and then run away, pretending it was all a stupid prank. James’ face is telling him he cannot.

“What’re you asking about that for?” James asks.

“No reason!” Harry says quickly and curses how high his voice came out.

A small smirk is creeping up on James’ face, one which Harry doesn’t like one bit.

“Oh, I see what this is. Someone has a little crush!”

“NO!” Harry yells, vehemently.

James drops his hand, staring at him, before taking a step back. All humour has gone.

“Then why are you asking?” he asks.

“No reason!” Harry assures him, the furious flush giving him away at his pretended nonchalance.

“Try again,” James says, and an authoritative note has entered his voice. Harry can’t help but envy that. James sounds so assured. Harry wonders if he ever sounds like that.

“I um, I just… we spoke the other day and I just got this sense that there was something, er, more there.”

“Uh-huh,” James says, hands planted on his hips. “And you?”

“What about me?”

James gives him a hard stare, which surprisingly to Harry is worse than if Molly Weasley did it. He clears his throat, trying to find something to say. James waits another second and then sighs.

“What happened?”

Harry squirms. He’s coming to regret this conversation, not sure how he even got himself here. What is he doing asking James, Sirius’ best friend, about this? He jumps a little when James plants a hand on his shoulder again.

“I don’t know,” Harry finally admits. “I- We were just talking and laughing and then something changed and he was looking at me and I felt strange and-”

“And what?”

“And I ran away.”

James is quiet for so long Harry is starting to wonder if he’s going to say anything at all. Maybe Harry crossed a line, a best mate sort of line he wasn’t aware of. He stares at his feet, unable to meet James’ eyes.

“Harry,” James says, and waits until Harry gets his courage back and looks up. His hazel eyes are very kind. “Do you think maybe you like Sirius?”

Harry blushes, already shaking his head, “No! Of course not!”

James’s eyes narrow and Harry shuts up.

“Really?”

“I mean, I can’t like him…. He’s-”

“He’s what? Too young? How old are you really?”

Harry has to think about it. Time travel really messes with things like birthdays and such. Then, chancing a glance at James, he thinks maybe he shouldn’t say either way. Better not let them piece together anything more. James seems to sense his reluctance and comes to his own conclusions. Harry shrugs, ending that line of questioning.

“He’s Sirius, you know?” he says instead.

James does, in fact, _not_ know. How can he? How can James understand the double vision Harry is constantly fighting when he’s looking at Sirius? How can he understand that Harry wants nothing more than to scream the truth at them and have them accept him and hug him and tell him they love him? How can he understand that Harry also wants to bury the truth and just stay here and live out his life like a young man excited about life, and explore whatever this thing between Sirius and him can become?

James nods anyway.

“Larger than life?” he says in a knowing voice and Harry jerks and looks at him in surprise. James grins. “It’s like that,” he says, “with people we fancy. They brighten our day just by existing and when they smile at us…” He gets a dopey expression on his face that Harry recognizes as his ‘thinking about Lily’ face.

“It’s not like that,” he croaks, trying to drag James back into the here and now. “I don’t fancy him.” His mouth is dry.

“Hm?” James says, slowly losing his dreamy look. “What’s not to like? He’s charming, funny, clever. Loyal to a fault.” He pauses and raises his eyebrows in a silly manner. “Handsome?”

Harry stares at him, blushing. James sees it and crows in excitement. 

“Shut up!” Harry says but his mouth is betraying him.

“I knew it!” James yells, flinging an accusing finger in Harry’s face. “You do fancy him! Oh, just wait ‘til I tell him-”

“You can’t!” Harry says at once, horrified. “You can’t tell him! I told you, I don’t fancy him!”

“You totally do!” James says, completely unbothered by Harry’s protests. “You’re blushing and stammering and stuttering and oh, this is precious.”

“Shut up!” Harry yells, a growing sense of panic making his voice uneven. “I can’t fancy him! It’s not appropriate, all right?”

James loses his bright grin as he stops and takes in Harry’s panicked expression.

“You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Yes!”

“You know he’s of age, right? And we’re a few months from graduating. When we all get out of school, the rules will be different. No one will think of it if you started dating then?”

Harry takes a moment to grasp what James is talking about. Then he realizes that James thinks the only problem is that Sirius is still in school and, by all accounts, still a boy. Worse yet is how since Harry is, according to their cover story, on assignment from the Auror Department, he shouldn’t get involved with anyone at all, least of all a schoolboy. He feels slightly nauseous realizing this hasn’t even crossed his mind.

“Yeah,” he wheezes out in response to James’ question. “That won’t work, though.”

“Is it the gay thing? Because let me tell you, Sirius is super queer, don’t even worry about it. He came out to his parents by sucking off the neighbours’ son in their living room. Although, I think they were more upset about the fact that he was _Muggle_ ,” James tells him in a contemplative voice, before he goes on, gleefully. “When he came out to _my_ parents it was even better. He was so nervous I thought he was about to puke, so I took the pressure off and kissed _him_ at Sunday dinner. My mum started crying and my dad asked if Lily knew. When we finally cleared out that Sirius is gay and Lils is still my soulmate, they hugged it out and mum knitted him a pride coloured scarf which he still wears. After that, he started dating seriously. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve caught him snogging someone in the Quidditch changing rooms and-”

Harry is sure the story could go on, but he feels like cotton got stuck in his ears. He stares in horror as his future dad explains all the sexual exploits of his future godfather. In a distant part of his brain he wonders if Sirius told him all this or if James is just the worst snoop known to humankind.

He’s rescued by the object of their discussion. Sirius shows up in their rather poorly hidden alcove, listens to five seconds of James’ story, and then drags him away, eyes wild. Harry glimpses his pale face turning purple before they disappear.

Rather dazed, he gets himself to the Gryffindor Tower, where he heads to bed. He has found out more about Sirius’ sex-life than he ever wished to know and he’s not sure how he feels about all this. Hidden away under his covers, he lets the darkness surround him as he considers what he learned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely pleased with this chapter as I feel mostly that Hermione comes off as more unsympathetic than is my intent. I might have to back and edit, but I rather though you'd all appreciate getting the chapter sooner rather than later. Hope you enjoyed Harry's mortification as much as I did x)


	24. Wolfsbane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a lot of reactions to Hermione's portayal in the last chapter. I did say I wasn't sure if I made her sympathetic enough but I actually didn't mean to Harry. I meant to the reader. She has gone through a terrible loss and is sad and lost and disappointed and I believe she is rather a person who needs her own space when she goes through something. I'm aware that a lot of people have an issue with her canonically, be it book or movie, or are displeased with her in this story. I won't argue with you; you are, of course, entitled to think whatever you like. Heavens know I have issues with lots of characters. I will say this, though: I'm trying to keep her in character. I love Hermione and I love her as friends with Harry. I think their friendship can withstand fights and disagreements. The books have certainly showed us they can and will stand with the other through hardship. I also think they've grown up quite a bit - they aren't teenagers anymore and they know when to give each other space and when to mark when their boundaries are crossed. This is my interpretation, take it or leave it. Either way, I hope you can enjoy the story!
> 
> I'd also like to wish you all a spooky Halloween and hope you stay safe in the second wave <3
> 
> Now, on to the story. You're in for some juicy stuff, so strap in! :D

“Stay behind after class, Mr Lupin,” Slughorn tells him on a Thursday afternoon. The others give him curious looks, but he shrugs, not knowing what it’s about either.

Once the other students have streamed out, Remus approaches the professor’s desk, wondering if he’s in trouble. He ransacks his brain trying to remember if he’s done something, or can be accused of something, in the past few days. Nothing comes up.

“Don’t look so worried, my boy,” Slughorn tells him with a wide smile. “I’ve just finished mastering the brewing of the new Wolfsbane potion and thought you’d like to know. You should come down to see me every night on the week leading up to the full moon and I’ll have a goblet ready for you.”

“What?” Remus asks, heart beating too fast. Slughorn looks at him, surprised.

“Well, I thought you knew already. Albus had me learning the new remedy as soon as it hit the market. I was sure someone would have told you. Of course it’s not a complete cure, I’m not sure there will ever be such a thing, but I’ve been reliably informed that this will alleviate the symptoms to a great effect. You’ll have a sound mind all throughout your transformation.”

Remus listens to Slughorn explain all the steps they’ll take to make sure nothing goes wrong. He’ll take the potion and continue to the Shrieking Shack as per usual and after moonfall, he’ll head straight to Madam Pomfrey where she, Slughorn and Dumbledore will wait for him to recount his experiences. If all goes well, and the potion works, he might not have to go to the Shrieking Shack for future full moons.

Remus is only listening with half a mind. He’s too occupied trying to process the idea that there is something that can allow him to keep his mind during his transformations. His father, Dumbledore and every Mediwitch he has ever spoken to have told him the same thing: there is no cure, there is nothing to lessen the suffering. This is more than he ever thought he would get.

He’s still dazed by the time he gets back to the Gryffindor Common Room. The others meet him inside the portrait hole, and he explains to them in a hushed voice about the Wolfsbane potion. Lily lets out a sob of joy, Sirius slaps his shoulder heartily and James hugs Remus so hard he can’t breathe.

“That is amazing,” Lily says to him. “I only happened to read that article because Hermione mentioned it during potions one time. I didn’t even think it was ready for use by the public yet. I’m so happy for you, Remus.”

“What did you say?” he asks, having to speak over Sirius, who is rambling about new adventures, a new era and such things.

“I’m so happy for you!” Lily repeats, smiling so wide it looks like it could split her face.

“No, before that.”

“Er- Oh! Hermione told me about the article. Just the tiniest little thing, I can’t believe she spotted it, actually. She really reads everything, you know? Anyway, she mentioned it off-hand, this new potion and how it was sure to revolutionize the general view wizards have of werewolves. Went on about it quite a bit actually. I think she’s thinking of joining the Ministry once we graduate-”

She halts when Remus grips her shoulders, probably painfully hard going by the grimace. 

“She told you about the potion? When?” he demands. He lets go when James hand clamps down on his wrist in warning.

“Er,” Lily says, thinking about it. “Probably a few weeks ago. I completely forgot about it until just now actually. Why? Is it important?”

Remus can’t form words. He shakes his head, jaw unable to open. He runs up to the Boys’ Dormitory and digs out their map. He searches until he finds the small dot ‘Hermione Granger’ in the library. Not bothering to bring his things for a fake study session, he takes off at a run.

When he gets to the Hogwarts Library, he’s panting. The librarian, Madam Pince, gives him a suspicious look when he comes through the doors. He doesn’t bother saying anything to her, but marches straight to the table that used to be his and Hermione’s. She’s sitting there, almost buried between piles of books. Her hair is wilder than normal, and he can guess why when he sees her dig her hands through it viciously. 

“Hermione,” he says quietly when he is close enough. She looks up and his heart clenches painfully.

“Remus,” she says equally quietly. She looks wary.

“Do you mind if I sit?” he asks and quickly sits down when she shakes her head, afraid she’ll change her mind. “I spoke to Professor Slughorn just now and he told me about this new potion called ‘Wolfsbane’.”

“Yes, I heard about that. Will he manage to brew it for you then?”

Remus nods, mutely. He watches as lines relax in her face and tension drains away.

“I’ll take my first potion this moon,” he says, voice hoarse.

“Good,” Hermione says in a short tone. Remus wonders if it’s too late. If he waited too long. “I’m happy for you, Remus.” When he meets her eyes, they’re warm, chocolate brown, and he loses all breath looking into them.

“Hermione,” he whispers. He can’t get anything else out. When she stretches out a hand, he grasps it and squeezes it so hard he’s sure she’ll wince in pain, but she does nothing, just squeezes back. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything,” she says, looking down.

“Lily said you told her about the article. I remember that morning when you and Harry ran off. It was that morning, wasn’t it? You went and told Dumbledore to have it brewed for me.” 

She doesn’t contradict him.

“He would have done it anyway.”

“Maybe,” Remus says, dismissive. “But you _ran_ to tell him. Only James, Sirius and Peter have ever…” he begins but stops. He can’t really tell her about the Animagus thing. It’s a secret that’s not his to tell. “Thank you,” he finishes, an emphasis to his words he hopes she will understand to mean more than just this thing. 

“It’s the least I could do,” she says.

“No,” he shakes his head. “It’s so much more than that. You might not understand, coming from a Muggle family, Hermione, but werewolves are _shunned_ in the Wizarding World. You can’t possibly imagine the discrimination, the hatred-”

“I understand,” she says, and there is a steely note in her voice that tells him she knows more than she’s letting on. “It’s a vile thing and I can’t believe more isn’t being done to stop it.” Her eyes are blazing with a fire so strong and righteous that it takes Remus’ breath away.

Suddenly, he can’t stop himself. He stands up, pulling her hand along with him. She gets to her feet willingly, not questioning. He gives her a second to back away, and then he wraps his arms around her in a tight hug. 

She gasps, standing perfectly still in his arms for a second. And then she hugs him back. Soft, warm hands wrap around his back and squeeze around him. She starts stroking his back up and down in slow, gentle movements and he realizes to his horror that he is crying! Great move, he thinks viciously. What a way to impress her importance to him, by soaking her hair in tears and snot. He makes to pull away, but she keeps him in her embrace.

~o~o~o~o~

“So you really knew all this time?” Sirius asks as they all sit together in the Boys’ Dormitory discussing the upcoming moon and what the Wolfsbane potion might mean for them.

Harry nods and exchanges another one of those mysterious looks with Hermione. Sirius gets the sense that those will never stop, no matter if all their secrets are revealed. He doubts they ever will. Every time they figure something out it seems another mystery appears around the corner.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Remus asks, and Hermione takes his hand.

That is new, too. Ever since Remus ran off after the revelation of the Wolfsbane, he and Hermione seem closer than ever. Sirius hopes he’s not about to witness another Perfect Couple form. One is quite enough, he thinks as he catches Lily and James lace their fingers together.

“I didn’t think you were ready. You would have been upset,” Hermione says.

“That’s probably true,” Remus says with a self-deprecating smile. Interesting how he can admit such things to _her_ but not ever that he’s been wrong about breaking the rules with _them_. Sirius tries to quell his jealous heart. “Anyway, I’ll have to keep going to the Shrieking Shack for my transformation. They don’t trust the potion completely yet, and I’m inclined to agree. I can’t imagine how it’ll work.”

Even as he says it, his face is alight with hope and joy. Sirius is also very happy for him. He has witnessed Remus put himself down, hiding away and hating himself for years. Only when they managed to complete their Animagus transformation and join him did that haunted look in his eyes begin to dissipate.

“It’ll work,” Harry says with utter conviction. 

Sirius turns to regard him and feels _something_ kick gently in his chest. There is no disgust, no fear, no anger at all, at the prospect of a werewolf. Remus must see it, too, because he gets tears in his eyes and nods shyly. It’s good for him, Sirius thinks, to have other people tell him what he, James and Peter have been trying to say for years now, that Remus isn’t his disease and he has the right to exist and the right to be loved, just like everyone else. Maybe even a bit more, Sirius thinks, regarding his friend’s shy smile.

“Besides, we’ll be there no matter what,” James says, clapping a hand on Remus’ shoulder not occupied by Hermione’s head.

Everyone in the room freezes.

“James!” Sirius yells. Peter squeaks. Hermione lifts her head to look around. Harry has his hand halfway up to his face, probably to push his glasses up on his nose, and is looking avidly at the Marauders. James blanches when he realizes what he has said, trying to cover up. “I mean we’ll meet you in the Hospital Wing afterwards a-and keep you company.”

It’s such a pathetic lie Sirius has no idea how the man can even call himself a Marauder. But it’s said, so it’s what they’ll have to stick to.

“Yeah, and when we know the potion works, maybe we’ll even get to be with you when you transform.” His voice is very high and he can’t meet Harry’s eyes.

“Exactly!” Peter tacks on in a squeakier voice than usual, not really adding anything to the excuse.

Hermione lets her head fall back to Remus’ shoulder, humming in approval. Only Remus isn’t relaxing. He’s staring at Harry.

“There’s no way you bought that,” Remus says, utterly calm.

Harry, to his credit, only regards Remus for a long moment, before looking at Hermione, and then back to Remus, giving a small shrug.

“I’ll believe whatever you need me to,” Harry offers, and Sirius feels his jaw drop.

“You’re offering to ignore what you just heard?”

“What did we just hear?” Harry asks calmly.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Hermione says. Harry gesticulates to her, in agreement.

“But you _know_!” Sirius insists.

Harry shrugs again.

“I know lots of things.”

“Won’t you have to report us to the Ministry?”

“Whatever for? What you’re doing, or not doing, is completely outside the scope of our assignment. I wouldn’t want to bother my boss at the Auror Department with such inconsequential minutiae.”

In the silence James suddenly smiles widely. He stands up, letting go of Lily’s hand, and walks over to Harry, clapping him heartily on the back. “I knew you were all right!”

Sirius doesn’t miss the way that Hermione squeezes Remus’ hand, and how he doesn’t say anything while his throat convulses in what looks to be painful swallows.

“We’d invite you along but…. Well, you kind of have to be an Animagus,” Sirius says, giving an apologetic grin. Harry raises an eyebrow. Thinking he’s telling Sirius to stop giving himself incriminating testimonials, he adds, “Hypothetically speaking, of course.” 

Harry appears more amused than satisfied with this addendum.

“Oh, I don’t care about that,” he says with a wave of his hand. “I told you, it doesn’t matter to our job.”

“Then what the heck are you grinning at?” Sirius demands, hands coming to his hips.

The others turn to listen to the exchange. Harry grinning, Hermione snickering, Sirius glaring. It’s Lily who figures it out. She gasps. Everyone turns to stare at her instead.

“Oh,” she says in an awed voice. “Of course! They’re Animagi, too!”

Sirius snaps his head back to Harry in order to confirm. The git is looking much too smug for his own good.

“Brilliant!” James exclaims, eyes glittering.

“Is that true?” Remus whispers to Hermione, who gives him such a gentle smile that Sirius feels as if he’s intruding on something. He nonetheless waits until the witch nods. Remus chuckles unbelievingly, as if all his dreams have come true. “Amazing,” he says in a low voice, just for her. Everyone hears it anyways, of course.

“Does that mean we’re invited, or was it just a courtesy thing?” Harry asks, looking innocent.

Sirius turns to James, who looks at Remus, who startles when he notices everyone waiting for his answer. 

“Oh! Er, well, I guess, if you’re sure you want to? It’s not pretty. And only if you really and truly can turn into animals. It’s not safe, otherwise.”

“We’ll be perfectly fine,” Hermione reassures him. Harry nods.

“Okay,” Remus says, voice shaking audibly. “You can come.”

Everyone cheers. James hugs Harry and Hermione, then Remus, too. Then the rest of the group for good measure.

“I feel a little left out,” Lily says pouting, but her smile is genuine. It grows even wider when James kisses her nose.

“Never,” James assures her. “Besides, you’ll be able to join us soon enough.”

Harry’s head snaps so quickly to Lily that Sirius wonders if he hurt his neck. So apparently the omniscient Jameson didn’t know James has been coaching Lily to undergo the transformation. Good to know he doesn’t know _everything_.

~o~o~o~o~

The weeks leading up to the full moon are full of excitement and anticipation. Remus dutifully goes to Slughorn every evening to drink the foul-tasting potion. Hermione goes with him every time, squeezing his hand and smiling encouragingly.

If it wasn’t for the boatloads of homework and classes so intense that Harry spends most nights studying and grieving his slow brain, he might dub it the happiest time of his life. By silent agreement they’ve created a study group and spend every break, evening and weekend which isn’t occupied by Quidditch practice, in the library, desperately trying to cram in just one more fact or spell or ingredient.

Gryffindor plays against Ravenclaw in the Quidditch match the last weekend of April. The Ravenclaws look so harassed Harry is surprised they showed up at all. The blue side of the stands is depressingly empty. 

Harry tries not to let his jealousy of the Seeker, Ruxon, shine through too bad, but Hermione looks much too pitying for it to have worked. He can’t hide his smile though, when, as Ruxon closes his hands around the little golden ball and the commentator yells, James throws his fist in the air and Sirius does a victory lap around the Pitch, high-fiving their supporters. When he reaches the stand where Harry and the others are standing cheering, Sirius pulls Harry onto his broom in elegant pull. Harry shouts in surprise as he’s jerked from his seat.

“What are you doing?” he yells in Sirius’ ear as they loop the scoring hoops before going down for the obligatory post-match handshakes. 

“It looked like you could use a broom ride, ‘s all,” Sirius says, unbothered. 

Harry stands awkwardly to the side when the teams shake hands. The Ravenclaws barely stay long enough to shake hands with everyone before they march back up to the castle, supposedly to continue their studying.

Their next match will be against Slytherin later in May. If they win then, the Quidditch Cup will be Gryffindor’s. Harry can’t help the excited little jump in his chest when he thinks about the idea of winning the Quidditch Cup again.

The victory is celebrated in the Gryffindor Common Room afterwards. Harry doesn’t comment on the suddenly appearing butterbeer and only watches in amusement as the team gets roaring drunk. 

Someone brings in the broomsticks and before long the match is re-enacted by various students and players. Ruxon makes a dive that almost lands him in the fireplace and the beaters, Jordan and Whallagher, use their bats to smash several oranges that someone encouragingly throws at them, spraying the room in the citric juice. Bradley, the chaser, makes an impressive show of balancing on his broom handle before collapsing into the shouting hordes of cheering students underneath him. 

Harry finds himself grinning and laughing with the others, drinking the butterbeer and enjoying just being a kid again. He catches sight of his future parents snogging happily in a corner, and quickly looks away, blushing. That’s quite more than he needs to see.

Sirius finds him a little later in the throngs of dancing. He has a bottle in one of his hands which he sips once in a while. He’s still wearing his Quidditch outfit, the red and gold contrasting sharply against his black hair.

“Having fun?” he yells over the music and Harry nods. “Want something to drink?” he asks and, thinking they’ll go and get something a little bit away, perhaps take a break and breathe, Harry nods again. But Sirius just hands over his bottle to Harry. He takes it, a little unsure, but at Sirius’ encouraging nod, he tips it back and downs the rest of the drink. “Thirsty, huh?” Sirius mumbles as he gets close enough to not have to shout. He vanishes the bottle and leans closer. Harry can smell the sweet drink on his breath. 

“This how you always celebrate victories in Gryffindor?” Harry asks, for something to do. He can’t quite meet Sirius' eyes. They’re warm and grey and a little bit glassy from drink.

“Wha?” he mumbles. “Oh, yeah, great party people, us Gryffindors,” he says in a low voice, as if it’s a secret he’s only sharing with Harry. “You look like you’re having fun,” he continues, leaning even closer, dropping his eyes to Harry’s lips.

“I am,” Harry tells him.

“Good,” Sirius says. 

Then he leans in, closer and closer, and then past Harry’s face, and drops his head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry pants. He’s not sure what he was hoping for, but his heart is racing. 

“Sirius?” he asks quietly.

“You smell good,” Sirius tells his neck, warm air hitting Harry’s skin like electricity.

“Thank you,” Harry replies, voice strangled.

After a while it appears that nothing more will happen, so Harry puts his arms around Sirius and gently guides him to the side. He ignores the quiet protests when he leads him up to their dormitory and makes Sirius drink a full glass of water, before he transfigures his Quidditch robes into pyjamas and tucks him into bed.

“Harry,” Sirius says lazily as Harry moves away. Harry stops and sits down on his bedside, waiting. “I m’really like-mm you,” Sirius tells him with a slight slur, and then shuts his eyes. Harry’s whole chest feels warm. He gently strokes Sirius’ hair which is messy and covered in something sticky.

“I really like you, too,” he tells the sleeping boy quietly. Sirius smiles and sighs, contentedly, already off in dream land.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I like to call the calm before the storm. *grins wickedly*  
> Next chapter: Betrayal.


	25. Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS! I'm so excited to share this chapter with you! It's one of the first scenes I imagined when I started planning this story and I've been dying have you read it! I hope it lives up to your expectations :D

On the night of the full moon, Harry’s insides are in knots. He keeps exchanging excited glances with Hermione. It’s like a ritual. He has heard the stories of his father’s escapades as an illegal Animagus, with his werewolf friend and the other Marauders. To stand here, on the eve of, he has to pinch himself to make sure he’s not dreaming.

“I’m afraid we won’t really fit under the cloak,” James says to them, looking at the small group critically. 

Remus has already gone to the infirmary to take his last potion before being led by Madam Pomfrey to the Whomping Willow, where he will make the last part of the journey alone. James and Sirius usually come along under the Invisibility Cloak, and Peter, transformed as a rat, sitting on one of their shoulders. Now, though, as James is pointing out, they have a problem. 

“Harry and I will follow behind you. We’ll meet you in the Shack,” Hermione says without really explaining how they’ll do so.

James regards them seriously as he, too, notices this.

“All right,” he finally agrees. “Just be careful, and remember, poke the knot on the trunk and the tree will be still.”

Harry and Hermione nod seriously although they have been told this multiple times already. They watch as James pulls the Invisibility Cloak over him and Sirius. Peter transforms into a rat and something flickers around him as he’s picked up by Sirius, and then he’s gone, too. Harry clenches his teeth as he recognizes the rat he once knew as Scabbers. It’s much easier to see the traitor he once was, or might become, when in rat form. Hermione squeezes his wrist calmingly.

The remaining pair waits until they see the door shut before Harry pulls his own Invisibility Cloak out of the air. He doesn’t think he’ll ever understand how something can exist twice, but his head starts hurting if he thinks about it for too long. They wait only a couple of minutes, just to make sure they won’t accidentally catch up and walk into the trio as they can’t see each other either. He sweeps the cloak over him and Hermione and they make their way.

The castle is empty and dark. It used to be eerie, Harry remembers, but somewhere along his years at the school, the corridors, the floors, the space has become safe. He breathes in the air, smelling the ancient magic permeated in the walls. 

When they round a corner, he thinks he spots something disappearing down the dark hallway. He squints but it’s too dark to make anything out. Perhaps another meandering student, he muses, a note of fondness in his chest.

Hermione gives him a curious look. He shrugs and shakes his head.

“Let’s go,” he whispers.

She nods but casts a suspicious look down the corridor.

When they get out of the castle, they just catch sight of the Whomping Willow come out of stillness. They hurry over the grounds. Hermione spots a stick which she enchants to fly over to the knot in the trunk, poking it once, before landing on the ground. The tree shudders and stills again. Once in the tunnel he stuffs the cloak carefully into his robes and follows Hermione.

The tunnel to the Shrieking Shack feels shorter than ever, excitement flooding in Harry’s systems. He doesn’t even mind the small twinge in his neck or his skinned knees when the tunnel starts ascending, signalling they’re close.

James and Sirius help pull them out of the hole. They notice at once that something is wrong. James is frowning and Sirius looks worried. Peter is sweating and his eyes keep flickering to the corner of the room. Harry follows his gaze and finds Remus. He’s sitting hunched in over himself, shuddering.

“Wha-” Harry begins, turning to Sirius for an explanation. 

Hermione rushes over without waiting for a response and checks on him. “Remus?” Harry can hear her mumbling to him.

“We don’t know what’s wrong,” James says, expression strained.

“It’s not usually like this?” Harry asks. He digs through his cloak for his wand, not having thought he would need it tonight, finally just turning the pockets inside out until he can get it. James, seeing this moves in front of him, between Harry and Remus.

“You’re not hurting him,” he tells Harry in no uncertain terms.

“Of course not.” Harry frowns. “I thought I’d send a Patronus for the Headmaster. Maybe something has gone wrong with the potion.” He regards Remus’ pale face in the dim room with concern. Granted, he hasn’t been present for many werewolf transformations, but this doesn’t seem right. The potion should just make his head clear, not cause him pain. _Additional pain_ , he corrects himself with a pang of sympathy.

James hesitates, hearing this.

“You said the potion would help. Slughorn brewed it.”

“It’s a complicated potion,” Harry says, voice tense.

“He’s poisoned?!” Sirius demands, catching on to what Harry isn’t saying.

“I don’t know,” Harry admits. He walks over to Remus and Hermione who’s crouched next to him, gently touching him in various spots, murmuring undiscernible things. Remus is shivering and sweating bullets, eyes unable to focus on Harry when he kneels before him. Harry turns to Hermione. She has shut her mouth closed in a tense line. “What d’you reckon?” 

“Something’s wrong,” she whispers. “I don’t know enough about the potion to say what, but this isn’t listed in any of the side effects.”

This isn’t calming Harry’s nerves at all. Slowly, as to not startle the boy, Harry puts a hand on Remus’ shoulder.

“Hey, Remus,” Harry says, keeping his voice steady. “How are you feeling?” He doesn’t think he’s going to get an answer as Remus doesn’t look up, but then one of his hands come up to grip Harry’s wrist. Harry tries to quell his reaction to wrench himself free.

“G- get out,” Remus says through clattering teeth, seemingly by willpower alone focusing on Harry long enough to deliver his order, and, Harry thinks, to relay his panic and fear.

Harry jerks back.

“Remus,” Hermione says in a calming voice. “We’re here to help you. You don’t need to be alone. We’re Animagi, you remember? Like the others. You won’t hurt us.”

Despite trying to sound reassuring, Harry can hear the slight tremble in her voice. Remus groans and the noise is accompanied by something deeper in his throat that doesn’t sound human. When he flexes slightly backwards in his position, Harry can hear small snapping sounds, like bones rearranging themselves beneath the skin.

“That’s it,” Harry decides. “We need to get out. Get help. There’s something wrong and none of us are capable enough wizards to help him now.”

He stands up as he says this. He can sense the others moving before he registers what is happening. When he faces the others, they’ve created a semicircle around him and the still sitting Hermione and Remus. James is holding something shimmering in his hand, wand in the other. Harry’s heart sinks to his stomach when he recognizes it.

“This is my cloak,” James says in a low voice.

Hermione, realizing something’s wrong, stands up next to Harry. She squeaks when she sees what’s in James’ hand.

“James,” Harry says, trying to remain calm. “We need to get help for Remus.”

“This is my cloak,” he says again, ignoring Harry. He says it slowly, like he’s waiting to be interrupted. He’s not looking at either of them, but staring down at the shimmering cloak in his hands, the stupid thing that Harry pulled out and dropped to the floor like an idiot because he couldn’t reach his wand.

“James, please,” Hermione says, pleading with him. “It’s just a cloak. Now please help us with Remus!”

“No, this is definitely my cloak. It’s been in my family for generations. I’d recognize it anywhere. How can you have it?” He doesn’t sound angry, but there is something strange in his voice. “How can you have it when I still have it, too?” He looks up then and Harry startles backwards at the intense look.

“I don’t-” Harry says, not sure how to continue. Luckily, or unluckily, for him, he doesn’t have to try.

“Your name isn’t Jameson,” Peter says into the otherwise silent room. 

Harry jerks, turning to the person who prefers to be quiet in almost every situation, who he attempts to ignore and never looks at directly for fear of hurting him.

“What do you mean?” Sirius demands, turning slightly to him, but still keeping Harry and Hermione in his line of sight.

“I heard them talking about it. Months ago. In the common room. They were laughing about it. About how his name isn’t Jameson and how he should have picked a better one.”

They turn to stare at Harry who flushes incriminatingly. He didn’t know Peter had overheard them. He hardly remembers when it happened, but it must have been when they just arrived.”

“You keep disappearing in the school,” Sirius says. “We know where everyone is at all times. Everyone except you. Why is that?”

Harry shakes his head, unable to answer. Sirius’s eyes narrow.

“I saw you talking with Regulus before Christmas.” James admits and flushes a little when Sirius turns to give him a sharp look. “I didn’t want to worry you,” he mutters quietly to his friend. “Sorry.” Then he looks back at Harry. “What would you have to talk about with a sixth year Slytherin?”

“I didn’t-” Harry begins but he’s interrupted.

“I saw you! Don’t deny it!”

“I heard you talking about me and the Black family,” Sirius says after a moment’s hesitation. “Right before the holidays.” He visibly swallows, gripping his wand tighter. “What do you want with my family?” he demands and raises his wand for the first time.

Harry and Hermione both raise theirs as well. It’s not a choice, it’s instinct, but the moment they do, they’re doomed. The three standing Marauders all aim their wands at Harry and Hermione.

“Who are you?” James demands. “You’re not just Aurors. Not even half the things we’ve seen are explained by that, I don’t care what Dumbledore says. You’re hiding something. No one can show up inside the school through a portal! The school is protected from that sort of magic. They didn’t even know who you were, threatening you at wand point! _And_ ,” he stresses, “you _have my cloak_.”

This in particular seems to be the clinching point for him. Harry and Hermione look at each other. Harry can see his own helplessness reflected back at him in her eyes.

“Maybe-” she begins, and Harry thinks he knows what she’s about to say. He can’t say he’s not relieved to have a reason to finally admit everything. But before she can finish the sentence, before either of them can draw another breath, a horrible sound permeates the room. 

Harry and Hermione jump around to find the source of the noise. Behind them, Remus has crouched into a tight ball. His robes have split open and through the ripped material, Harry can see his skin move in a sickening manner. He immediately swallows down his instinct to vomit.

“Remus!” Hermione yells, but Harry grips her arm to keep her back. The werewolf transformation has begun.

“Get out of here,” he yells to the others and they stare, shocked, as their friend, screams when his spine rearranges. They don’t move, however. “Run!” Harry yells again, but the trio just aim their wands at themselves and transform into their Animagus forms.

“Harry, we have to transform!” Hermione yells. Harry looks at her, sees the fear on her face, and nods. 

He gives Remus one more worried look before closing his eyes to find his inner Phoenix. He can hear Hermione’s shriek letting him know she has transformed already. He frowns. It’s difficult to find the fiery bird inside this decrepit room. The growls turning more and more wolf-like do nothing but make his heart race faster. A werewolf will attack any human, even his best friend, in his transformed state, Harry remembers. 

He doesn’t dare open his eyes to check how far gone the transformation has gone, but the pained howls have ceased which doesn’t bode well. Hermione the eagle shrieks again, telling him to hurry up. 

There’s a flurry of movement behind his closed lids as Prongs and Padfoot come closer to the wolf which is growling threateningly. Padfoot barks back. The normally intimidatingly large grim of a dog sounds small compared to the deep growls of a real wolf.

Suddenly there’s a crash from splintering wood and Harry opens his eyes, terrified of what he’ll see. He doesn’t quite understand. It seems the eagle has projectiled itself through the planks covering the windows. The eagle is now stuck in the planks, flapping to get loose. Harry thinks distantly he might laugh if he wasn’t about to be eaten by a werewolf.

Then he smells the fresh air as it hits him in the face and suddenly it’s easy to find his Phoenix. The air smells of skies and flying and freedom. He breathes in as Harry, and breathes out as the Phoenix.

Not a second too late, as the enormous jaws of the wolf slam closed over the spot he just occupied. The frustrated wolf carve the wooden floor with his claws. Harry looks down on it and feels pity for the cursed being. It’s still smelling foreigners in its territory, so Harry flaps his wings, barely having enough room in the suddenly cramped Shack, taking him to Hermione who’s still struggling through the boards covering the window. He grabs her back with his talons and _flashes_. 

When they come into existence again, they’re outside Hogwarts. Harry drops the eagle, letting it spread its wings and take flight next to Harry. It shrieks in worry and Harry sings his sorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only imagine that safety in things concerning werewolves are not the top priority and that the wolfsbane potion is rather a product of trial and error. Mostly error.
> 
> (I'm also very very sorry about the cliffhanger... again... Next chapter picks up on an entirely new note though so it makes sense to cut here)


	26. Wagers

The Marauders say nothing to each other as they transform back into their human selves. Remus lies panting on the floor, his hands and forearms torn up from scratching the walls most of the night in search of the foreign smell. James and the others don’t dare do anything about it, though. 

Remus doesn’t have his wand during his transformation, courtesy of decisions made by higher ups, and they can’t do healing magic without revealing they’ve been here. Instead, they wipe the sweat off his forehead, petting whatever part of his body isn’t bruised, gently stroking his hair. Slowly, slowly, Remus’ pained whines die away as he falls into exhausted sleep.

They can hear the footsteps of someone coming through the tunnel and quickly disperse. James picks up his cloak, feeling another sting in his chest from the betrayal of Harry and Hermione. He doesn’t even know what it all means, and he shies away from looking at it too closely. Instead he picks up the now transformed Peter, putting him in his pocket and pulls the cloak over himself and Sirius.

Madam Pomfrey enters the Shack, looks around and then sighs sadly as she sees Remus. She gently checks his vitals before conjuring a gurney underneath him. James watches worriedly as the Matron walks away with their friend.

They wait a couple of minutes, then follow. James stops by the entrance to pick up the extra Invisibility Cloak, not sure what he’ll do with it, but he can’t find it. He knows Harry and Hermione didn’t have a chance to collect it, and he knows where he dropped it, but it’s gone nonetheless. He does, however, find and pick up Hermione and Harry’s wands. He gives Sirius a meaningful look before crawling down the hole to the tunnel.

Back up at the school they head straight to bed. The others haven’t woken up yet, but they will soon, being a Tuesday. Peter has already fallen asleep when James picks him out of his pocket and tucks him into bed. Sirius is barely coherent and falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

Harry isn’t in his bed, though. James looks at it for a long moment, twisting the two wands between his fingers thoughtfully. Then he sighs and puts them away in his nightstand. He pulls his bed curtains shut and sleeps for a blissful hour before they’ll have to go to class.

~o~o~o~o~

Sirius feels like absolute Flobbercrap. He can barely keep his eyes open during Potions, which is probably why it takes him until Slughorn is asking them if they’ve ‘seen Mr Jameson and Miss Granger this morning’, to notice that the pair is missing. He looks at James and sees him shake his head, a stoic expression on his face.

They work at their potions in silence. Not for the first time does Sirius envy Remus for having Lily for a potions partner. Since she found out about their monthly excursions, she has been a lifesaver in classes, but now Remus isn’t even here to reap the benefits. Instead she works solo, only once in a while casting a worried glance at James and Sirius’ tired faces, stopping them from exploding their cauldrons on no less than three occasions. 

They sleep through their free period before lunch. Sirius tries to quell his jealousy when they find Peter having slept through the entire morning, only waking up to go with them down to lunch.

Harry and Hermione are still missing by the time their Charms lesson wraps up, and now that he thinks about it, Sirius doesn’t think Hermione has ever missed a single class. The same thing would probably have occurred to Remus if he was with them, but he’s still recuperating in the Hospital Wing. 

When they carefully knock on the door to the infirmary just before supper, Madam Pomfrey lets them in without a fuss, which sends Sirius’ nerves into overdrive. She is never kind to the visitors unless something is seriously wrong with the patient.

Remus is sleeping when they get to his bed. Sweat is still pouring off his skin, the small cloth by his bedside wiping off his forehead every other minute. He’s moaning and whimpering in his sleep, making Sirius uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong with him?” James asks.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” Madam Pomfrey says and then moves to leave.

James looks hesitant, so Sirius kicks him lightly in the leg. James clears his throat, and the Matron turns back to him.

“We know about his- er…lycanthropy.” James looks about as uncomfortable as Sirius feels. Madam Pomfrey stares at them, mouth just a tiny bit open. Then she closes her mouth and nods, as if something settles for her. “But he’s not usually like this,” James continues now that she’s listening. “Something’s wrong?” he prompts her.

“Yes, Mr Potter. Something’s wrong. We’ve administered a new potion that we hoped would alleviate his symptoms, but it appears the side effects are quite severe. I haven’t had the chance to inquire about his experience of the transformation yet, but we’re unlikely to try again if these are the results.” She gives the still sleeping Remus a worried look.

“The Wolfsbane potion,” James says, and she turns to him, surprised.

“Yes, how did you-”

“Read about it and… Well, Remus told us,” James says.

“Oh,” Madam Pomfrey says. Then she smiles, only very slightly. “He’s lucky to have friends such as you.”

James looks down at his shoes and Sirius is pretty sure his face is red as a tomato. Sirius pretends it’s not, as he’s taught.

“Was there something wrong with the potion?” James asks finally. Sirius glances at him, surprised at this line of questioning.

“What makes you think so?” Madam Pomfrey asks.

“Nothing, it’s just… It’s supposed to help, isn’t it?”

“It’s a new potion. We weren’t sure what to expect.”

“But if they’ve sold the recipe, surely they must have tested it?”

“They have,” Madam Pomfrey says. “But you’d be surprised at the shortcuts allowed when dealing with the so-deemed beasts,” she says, a disapproving line in her forehead revealing her thoughts on the subject. “I’m not sure I’d put much stock in otherwise rather rigorous testing of healing potions when it comes to lycanthropy.” Madam Pomfrey leaves them, a certain snap to her heels on the stone floor.

Feeling sick to his stomach, Sirius turns to look at Remus, pale and looking even thinner than usual.

“It’s messed up,” Sirius says, softly petting Remus’ hair.

“It really is,” James agrees.

“You don’t think they had something to do with it, do you?” Sirius asks, hating himself a bit for even considering it.

“Don’t know they could. Slughorn brewed it and Remus took it in his lab, didn’t he?”

Sirius nods, feeling relief and then immediately guilt. It’s a messed-up system which should be worse than the betrayal of people he considered his friends. But it isn’t.

James still looks thoughtful, though, so Sirius jostles him gently.

“What’s the matter? What’re you thinking?”

James shrugs, looking away.

“I took their wands,” he whispers. “And now they’re gone, and no one has seen them. Not even the teachers know where they are.”

Sirius’ heart constricts.

“Do you think something happened to them?” he asks, barely breathing. He didn’t even consider the possibility.

“I don’t know.”

~o~o~o~o~

Remus remains in the Hospital Wing for the duration of the week. James copes by putting the Quidditch team through the mill. He excuses it by saying the Slytherins have an impossibly good line-up this year. Sirius sees through it, though. Especially as James most often stays behind after the practice to go over his strategies which he at this point should be able to recite backwards in his sleep. Sirius leaves him be, knowing James usually works through his issues best in solitude.

Peter keeps trying to talk to him, telling Sirius about how he suspected the transfer students since the beginning, how something was always off with them, but Sirius doesn’t want to listen. He cuts off another rant from Peter, opting to head back to the Common Room to study. His entire body aches from drills on the Pitch and he would actually prefer to go to sleep, but McGonagall expects him to hand in that bloody essay he has kept procrastinating. Perhaps in a better mood, he would have felt cocky enough to cause a distraction in class and get out of it, but he’s not feeling up for it.

Therefore, he’s entirely surprised when he bumps into Remus climbing out of the portrait hole.

“Moony!” he exclaims, and Remus looks up, smiling wanly.

“Oh, good. I thought I’d have to walk all the way down to the Quidditch Pitch to find you.”

“You’re out?” Sirius asks, dumbly.

“I’m out,” Remus smiles. He’s a little paler than usual, a little thinner, but he’s awake and smiling and talking. Sirius could hug him. So he does. “Er,” Remus says, patting his back awkwardly. “Sorry for worrying you.”

“Apology accepted on the condition you never do that again,” Sirius says to him, seriously.

“I won’t,” Remus promises, wry smile colouring his words. “Is James not with you?”

“Nah,” Sirius says and then tells him about James' obsession with Quidditch this week, and how it’s probably in escape of his thoughts.

“Have you talked to them?” Remus asks them, understanding who Sirius is refraining from mentioning without problem. Sirius feels bad for him, possibly even more than for himself. Remus and Hermione seemed to have something real going on.

“They haven’t shown their faces since they flew out on us,” Sirius tells him, still thinking about that majestic Phoenix which Harry turned into. _Of all things_ , he thinks, of course it’s a Phoenix. It couldn’t be something unimpressive, like a Flobberworm or a common beetle or something. Had to be a bloody Phoenix.

“They’re gone?” Remus asks, looking shocked. “Why?”

“Because we found them out?” Sirius says. Surely this was obvious? But Remus is shaking his head.

“They gave us the explanation,” he says, looking around to make sure they’re alone, before whispering, “Being _Aurors_ ”.

“That doesn’t really explain why they had James’ cloak, though, does it?” Sirius counters, suddenly feeling like Peter. He doesn’t want to be suspicious but it’s kind of hard not to when the pair up and disappears on them. Way to act incriminating!

“Maybe it wasn’t,” Remus counters. “Invisibility Cloaks are rare, I give you that, but they’re not unique.”

“James said he recognized it.”

“James once swore someone ate his meatball when he wasn’t looking. I watched him eat it not a minute before.”

“That’s not the same thing!”

They stare warily at each other. Then Remus raises his hands in defeat. It doesn’t feel like a victory. Sirius shuffles a little, looking at the floor.

“I’m going studying, wanna come?”

“Love to,” Remus says.

They get their things and sit down in the almost deserted common room with Lily who quickly sweeps over them, looking for James, Sirius thinks, then smiles kindly at them and makes room. Peter begrudgingly joins in after a while. They’re still there by the time James comes back, looking tired, miserable and wet. It must have started raining.

James takes one look at the little group and then the first genuine smile Sirius has seen on his face in a week lights his face. He sits down with them, putting a hand on Remus’ shoulder. Lily kisses his forehead and Sirius ruffles his hair. Nothing is right but at least it feels a little bit better.

~o~o~o~o~

ONE WEEK EARLIER

Harry blinks his eyes open, immediately reacting to the wand pointed at his face. He follows the wood up to the arm and face of its holder, and recognizes him.

“Regulus Black,” Harry says, tongue swollen and dry. He doesn’t know how long he’s been out, but his throat is absolutely parched. He looks around and finds Hermione tied up next to him, head bent forward in sleep and chest expanding in short pained breaths. It’s not great news that she, too, is captured, but at least he knows she’s alive.

“Good,” Regulus says. “You’re finally awake.”

Harry tries to look around, but he doesn’t recognize where they are.

“Where are we?” he asks, for something to say. Regulus doesn’t respond. “Why have you captured us?”

“Thought it was my turn to ask some questions.”

“What kind of questions?” Harry asks suspiciously.

“The kind I want to ask.”

Hermione comes awake at this point. She breathes in sharply and then raises her head slowly, wincing at apparent pain in her neck. She takes in the scene without a word, giving Harry a quick look.

“Are you all right?” he asks her, because their captor hasn’t gagged them nor has he told them not to speak. After a moment’s hesitation, she nods.

“Thirsty,” she croaks. Harry winces in sympathy.

“Would you mind letting us go? We’ll answer any questions you have,” Harry says, turning to Regulus. “No need to tie us up.” 

“There’s no way for you to guarantee that,” Regulus tells him, not bothering to argue further.

“No way unless you try us,” Harry says, and Regulus scoffs.

“Gryffindors,” he mutters, not loudly enough for it to be meant for his ears. “No, I want to know who you are.”

Harry stares at him, not opening his mouth. While he and Regulus are locked in a staring duel, Harry wonders where his wand might have gone. He can’t feel it in his robes where it should be. The strap for the Elder Wand is still there, but he’s not sure if the wand itself is.

“Well?” Regulus says, finally.

“What?” Harry says. “You haven't asked us anything yet.” Harry rather enjoys the look of fury that crosses Regulus’ otherwise handsome face.

“Harry,” Hermione whispers, completely unnecessarily as Regulus is as close to her as Harry is. “Don’t antagonize him.”

“Who are you?” Regulus asks.

“Harry,” Harry says. “I think I introduced myself before Christmas. Really, quite rude of you to forget.”

“Harry _Jameson_ ,” Regulus says, putting an odd emphasis on the surname. 

“There you are,” Harry says, pretending to be gratulatory. “Introductions proper out of the way.”

“There’s no record of you anywhere.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, blinking up at Regulus with big eyes. He tries to forget the sweat starting to break out on his back.

“I mean,” Regulus says slowly, “that you don’t exist. You’re not in the Book of Admittance. You’re not listed in the Ministry’s list of Muggle-born and there are no Wizarding families with your name. So, I ask again: who are you?”

Harry is silently impressed with this. He doesn’t know what the Book of Admittance is, but Hermione clearly does, going by the small gasp coming from her. Regulus has obviously done his research. At the same time, Harry is perhaps a bit irritated that Dumbledore didn’t help them with this. He said he’d take care of the administration of things. The Book of Admittance sounds suspiciously like school administration and should therefore have been _his_ job.

“Why do you ask?” Harry asks instead of answering.

“Because I’m curious,” Regulus says, not sounding the least bit curious. “Because I noticed you the second you entered the school, looking like Potter and becoming friends with my brother. Because you’re different from other students - even the teachers treat you differently. And I know of no students at the school who’re registered Animagi, even less so, a Phoenix one. Do you have any idea how rare it is to become a magical creature when you transform?”

Harry silently shakes his head. Regulus scoffs. Harry looks briefly to Hermione, who is staring intently at the only door in the room.

“They’re really rare, Harry,” she whispers. “I don’t think there are currently any alive, registered at least.”

“I didn’t know that,” Harry says. “What does that have to do with anything?” he asks, turning back to Regulus, who’s pacing the floor, looking grim.

“Nothing!” he almost yells. “It has nothing to do with anything except add to the mystery that is you two.”

“Sorry about that” Harry says, not feeling particularly sorry.

“Do you have any idea the kind of stir you’re causing outside these walls?”

Harry looks again around the room, but he still doesn’t recognize it, although it does seem to be the same kind of stone that most of Hogwarts is built out of. He shrugs up at Regulus.

“I mean metaphorically,” Regulus says with an eye roll big enough to look painful. “Outside, in the Wizarding World!”

“Why would anyone even notice us?” Harry counters. “No one besides you knows we’re Animagi.”

“The Dark Lord has spies everywhere.”

Suddenly the room seems colder. If Regulus is already so deep into Voldemort’s nest to know of the spies, to maybe even be one of them, they may be too late. Harry glances down at his arm but it’s covered of course, so he can’t see if he’s already taken the Mark. 

“I see that reached you, at least,” Regulus says. 

“Are you one of them?” Harry asks, not knowing how he will ever believe it if Regulus says no. Regulus smiles, half a smile that quickly dies and says nothing. Fair enough. “Does he know about us?”

“What’s to know?” Regulus asks, mockingly. “You’re just ordinary students. Just Harry. Right?”

“Just Harry, that’s me,” Harry confirms, a cold vice around his heart. Regulus scoffs again. “Has he approached you yet?” Harry asks. Regulus pauses to regard him.

“Yet?” he repeats quietly, and Harry panics.

“You’re a Black, aren’t you?” he pushes on. Regulus stares another moment, then sighs and looks away.

“You think a name is good enough for the Dark Lord? One has to prove himself before he would even consider it.”

“And you’re still in school,” Harry points out. Regulus bristles at this.

“I’m old enough!”

“You’re sixteen.”

“I’ll be of age in a month!”

“Yes, seventeen. Practically an old man,” Harry agrees. “One says wisdom comes with age.”

“ _You’re_ seventeen,” Regulus almost shouts. 

“Has he come to your house? Spoken to your mother and father? Has he promised you everlasting glory?” he asks, watching Regulus carefully. “It’s just lies. He doesn’t care about anyone. His only goal is to _live,_ and he doesn’t care who gets in the way of that. Certainly not a sixteen-year-old boy who’s not even sure which side he should be on.”

“I know what side I’m on,” Regulus says.

“Do you?” Harry asks. Regulus opens his mouth as if to answer, but Harry cuts in before he can. “You think less of Muggles? Think they’re scum?”

“Yes,” Regulus replies confidently. “They’re stopping us from being free, from being out in the open.”

“Did Muggles do that? Or did wizards do that?”

“They were killing us!”

“Hardly,” Harry says thinking of Wendelin the Weird for the first time in years.

“They were trying to,” Regulus insists.

“They were afraid. And we were cruel to them. It was a war born of fear where one side was immeasurably outpowered not only in magic but in knowledge of the magic itself.”

“What does it matter? Things won’t change unless someone changes it!”

“So they deserve to die?”

“Yes!”

“And the Muggle-born? Do they also deserve to die?”

“Y-yes,” Regulus says, flushing at the small stutter. “They’re scum and should be killed before they infest our society with their dirty blood.”

Harry shudders at the rhetoric, at the words he has no trouble picturing the late Walburga Black teaching her children until they spit it out in a way that pleased her. He wonders how Sirius managed to get out.

“They’re just as magical as you and me,” Harry says. “Hermione here is Muggle-born. She’s the brightest witch I know.” He watches as Regulus quickly glances at Hermione, then dismissing her. Hermione is barely looking at him, still staring at the door. “Would you kill her?” Harry asks. “Just for existing?”

“I don’t-” Regulus begins.

“You’d have to, if you joined him,” Harry tells him bluntly. “You’d have to torture and humiliate and kill witches and wizards like Hermione.”

Regulus looks at Hermione again. Harry wonders what he sees. Harry feels like half his heart is sitting in that other chair. He doesn’t know what he would do if someone hurt her. 

It doesn’t look to be appealing to Regulus either, Harry sees with a note of surprise.

“Someone else could do it. I wouldn’t have to,” he says finally.

“He would find you weak.”

Regulus looks up at him, furious.

“Would you do it, then? You talk a big game about having to torture and kill. Would you have what it takes to murder someone?” 

“No,” Harry says calmly. “But that’s the good thing about being on the right side. We don’t have to. We _never have to_.”

“The Ministry has sanctioned using the killing curse in pursuit of Death Eaters,” Regulus tells him with something like triumph in his voice. “How do you condone that, if you’re so good?”

“Who ever said the Ministry is good?” Harry asks, meeting his gaze steadily. This seems to take Regulus aback.

“But, it’s the government!”

“Power corrupts, have you ever noticed?” Harry asks, almost conversationally. He’s still looking at Regulus closely.

“What?”

“Whenever someone gets enough power, it seems to do nothing but make everything worse. Fear, mistrust, greed. Whatever the poison, it’s always something. It rots the heart.”

“Professor Dumbledore isn’t,” Regulus says, which surprises Harry a great deal. He almost smiles, because if Regulus’ go-to powerful wizard is still Albus Dumbledore, there must be hope.

“You never wondered why he remains the Headmaster of a school? He knows what power does, and he respects it enough to keep away from it.”

“Then what do you plan to do?”

“About?”

“The Ministry? Everything? What’s your grand solution?”

“Oh, I don’t have one,” Harry says happily with a shrug he regrets when the ropes cut into his skin. He enjoys Regulus’ dumbfounded expression for two seconds before continuing. “Hermione here is going to go into the Ministry and make it fair again. She has kindly agreed to help me destroy this dark wizard that keeps creating problems in our society before that, though. Quite magnanimous of her, if you ask me. I heard it’s a competitive business.”

Regulus doesn’t appear to have a ready response for this. Harry chances a glance at Hermione who’s fighting a small smile. Harry crows on the inside.

“You don’t have to decide now,” Harry offers finally, when Regulus continues to pace the floor.

“What? Decide what?”

“If you’re going to take my offer?”

“What offer? You haven’t offered me anything.”

“I’m offering you to help me.”

Regulus gives him an incredulous look.

“Why would I help you?”

“To save your own soul? You’ll be dead within two years if you don’t.” Harry can taste the truth of his words as he says them. They taste like ash.

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a fact.”

“I still have you bound and at my mercy,” Regulus says, although he sounds a bit unsure now.

“So you do,” Harry agrees, channelling his best polite Dumbledore. “Quite a good binding, too, at that. But I’m afraid we’ve really stayed too long and must be on our way.”

“What- But you can’t!” 

“Hermione, if you will?” Harry says and Hermione nods. The door blasts open with a deafening bang at the same time as their binding melts away. Harry massages his wrists, trying to get back circulation into them.

They begin walking to the door, but Regulus calls back to them, “Wait!”

Harry turns around obligingly and waits. Regulus shuffles from foot to foot, looking incredibly young.

“What would I have to do?”

Harry smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this turned into major dialogue. This entire scene with Regulus was originally just going to be them shaking hands and parting way, but it seems Harry had some things to say first. I really don’t decide what he does. This is also the first time I’ve ever really written Regulus - did you like him? And how did you like chaotic Harry? :D


	27. Hidden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! Sorry for the delayed update - due to personal reasons I was unable to upload a chapter last night. I would like to thank you all so much for your lovely comments - they absolutely make my day and keep me motivated - thank you! <3

The last week and a half before NEWTs the teachers have their classrooms open for self-study which Dumbledore assures them they’re allowed to miss, so Harry and Hermione choose to hang out in the Room of Requirement rather than confront the Marauders. 

They do however sneak into the Shrieking Shack looking for their wands before admitting the Marauders probably took them. Harry tries summoning them but when nothing happens, they grimly decide on a heist to the Boys’ Dormitory in Gryffindor Tower. 

They go at night when everybody’s asleep. Hermione stands guard while Harry rummages through the boys’ belongings. Carefully, as to not set off any pranks. He finds their wands in James’ nightstand, inconspicuous lying there among candy wrappers, broken quills and a stack of letters. Harry very deliberately only picks up the wands, despite desperately wanting to read the letters. He recognizes his mother’s handwriting.

Hermione smiles, strained, when he shows her he found them. She visibly breathes a sigh of relief when she takes her wand in hand, a gentle finger stroking down the wood.

“Good,” she whispers. “Let’s get out of here.”

Harry casts a quick glance back at the beds, and lifts the silencing spells he put on them. Nothing happens. No shuffling. Just the soft snuffling sounds of sleep. They leave. 

~o~o~o~o~

They are trying to find a counter for the Emerald potion, dubbed so by the colour, Harry remembers having to force feed it to Dumbledore all those years ago.

“Maybe with the Elder Wand...” Hermione says, not sounding particularly enthused.

“Dumbledore had the Elder Wand when he encountered it the first time. If there was a way with it, he would have known then,” Harry says glumly.

It’s not the first time they’re discussing this, and Hermione sighs unhappily. They’re talking in circles, but it’s easier than talking about what happened in the Shrieking Shack. It’s a subject neither of them has lifted since even before they left Regulus with a few words of caution and a firm handshake. It’s still laying like a heavy blanket between them. 

“We should go talk to him,” Hermione declares a little while later.

“Who?” Harry asks, who has started daydreaming and forgot if they were talking about someone in particular.

“Dumbledore!” Hermione says impatiently. “Even if he knows no more than us, he’s still incredibly clever and experienced. If provided with the knowledge beforehand, maybe he can come up with a solution.”

Harry, who has no better idea, shrugs and stands. 

“All right.”

“Wh- Just like that?”

“Why not?”

“Oh, okay,” Hermione says, gathering her things. She also stands up and they head out of the room which has become their home of the last week.

Outside it’s dark. Harry checks the time and is surprised to note it’s already late enough to be considered rude to come by unannounced. Harry doesn’t want to wait, though. He’s itching to do something, anything, besides sitting in that bloody room, staring at walls and thinking about everybody’s reactions in the Shrieking Shack.

More assured than he feels, he starts walking towards the Headmaster’s Tower. Neither he nor Hermione thought to bring the Marauders’ Map or the Invisibility Cloak, so he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised when they bump into the original owners of said things.

“Harry,” says Sirius.

“Sirius,” says Harry.

“Remus,” says Hermione.

“Hermione,” says Remus.

“James,” says James. The others turn to look at him. He ignores them. “Now that we’re all acknowledged, what are you doing here? Where have you been for the past week?”

Harry stares at him, the man that is going to be his father one day. It’s not a parent’s worry coming from him, though. Of course not. It’s the chilly question of a friend who’s been betrayed. It stings more than Harry is prepared for. He looks at Hermione for help, but her eyes are wet and pleading, looking at Remus.

“We weren’t sure we were welcome back,” Harry says. It’s not even a lie.

“We’re not sure either,” James says. Harry winces, as if hit. James looks mildly apologetic. “You have some things to answer for. Like how you got my cloak.”

“We can’t answer your questions,” Hermione says, still looking at Remus. “I’m sorry, we just can’t. There’s too much at stake.”

“Like what?” Sirius demands, staring at Harry. “What can’t you tell us?”

Harry’s willpower seems to be seeping out by his ankles. He wants nothing more than to tell Sirius and James and Remus. 

“You’ll find out,” he says instead.

“When?”

“In time.”

“That’s so- unhelpful,” Remus says, earning an involuntary snort of amusement from Harry and a glare from Sirius.

“I see you’ve got your wands back,” James says.

Harry looks down and sees his Holly wand has slipped into his hand, an entirely unconscious decision on his part. He fights down a blush but keeps it in his hand.

“Look, whatever you’re thinking right now, I almost guarantee you’ve got it wrong. I’m sorry it’s like this but we really can’t tell you yet. Just know that we’re on your side. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Sure,” says James, voice cold. “That’s awfully convenient.”

“It’s the truth,” Harry says, meeting his hazel eyes. “I don’t know what else to say.”

James looks furious, but then he looks down in the ground.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” Harry asks.

“Fine,” James confirms.

Harry’s not sure what it means. If they’re forgiven. If they’re trusted again. If things can ever go back to the way it was… But he breathes a sigh of relief, nevertheless. He smiles a little tentatively at them and then walks off with Hermione. The Marauders remain in their spot, looking at the retreating duo. 

“Follow them,” James says. 

The hidden rat in his robes crawls out from its hiding spot and runs down James’ trouser leg before scuttling off after the pair.

“My,” Remus says quietly. “We really have given up on trust, haven’t we?”

He doesn’t seem to expect an answer, and no one gives him one.

~o~o~o~o~

“Ah, it’s good that you’ve come,” says Dumbledore after the Gargoyle lets them pass through and they’re standing in the Headmaster’s door. He lets them into his office, rounding his desk to sit down. Harry thinks he looks older, although it’s a weird thing to think, considering this man is at least a decade younger than when Harry met him the first time.

“How so?” Hermione asks, declining Dumbledore’s offer of a lemon drop as usual.

“I’ve just got word they’re moving up the trial for Rodolphus Lestrange. It’ll take place this week.”

“That’s good though, isn’t it?” Harry asks, not understanding why this would be a problem.

“Indeed, Harry, but what worries me is why.” He looks like this is causing a great deal of worry. Harry contemplates this. He’s hesitant to credit the Ministry with any kind of competency. In his own experience, they’re either overreacting and fumbling things, or neglecting to act at all. “I’ve tried to keep feelers out for this kind of development but none of them have noticed anything, which is worrisome in itself,” Dumbledore continues.

“We’ll just have to keep an ear close to the ground,” Harry offers, not having anything else to advise. “You took his memory, though, right?”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore reassures. Harry relaxes back in his chair at these words. “The man wouldn’t be able to speak of what he saw even under Veritaserum.”

“That’s good.”

“Now,” says Dumbledore, seeming to focus more clearly on Hermione and Harry. “What has brought you here tonight?”

“We’ve been discussing the next step in our plan: the cave,” Hermione tells him and then launches into everything she and Harry have been talking about. Dumbledore listens silently, only interrupting every once in a while to ask for clarification on something.

“Do you have any idea what it might be?” Harry asks when Hermione winds to a close. 

“I’m afraid not. I’d need a sample of the potion and, even then, I’m not sure I would be able to parse out much meaning, even less so an antidote,” he tells them regretfully. Harry wilts where he sits, already having suspected this, yet unable to quell his disappointment when faced with definite confirmation. “That’s not to say we shouldn’t try, of course,” Dumbledore goes on, perhaps sensing Harry’s desolation. “I think it would be a good idea to visit the cave and see if we can’t find out something more.”

Alarmed at this, Harry jerks his head up to stare at Dumbledore.

“Professor!” he says. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to visit the cave? Don’t you think Tom will sense if someone’s been there?”

“Ah, but he didn’t last time, or so you said. Besides, if we can’t get at the locket when we _do_ get there, there’s really not much point in doing any of this. Don’t you agree?”

“I guess,” Harry says reluctantly. “I suppose we should check it out.”

“Excellent,” Dumbledore says as if they’ve come to a great solution. He stands from his chair, and Harry and Hermione both jump up as well, not wanting to overstay their welcome. “Is tomorrow good for you?”

“Sounds good,” Harry says.

Harry sees Hermione struggle for a second, but then nod decisively. In a vague, distant way he suddenly remembers they’ve got school to consider in all of this, and can guess her qualms.

“Excellent, I’ll call on you when it’s time.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Hermione says.

“Have you destroyed the diary yet?” Harry asks, suddenly remembering they haven’t heard back from him about it.

Dumbledore looks at him silently for a moment, before opening a drawer and taking the diary out. Harry gapes at him.

“I’m afraid I’m still examining it. Although you are correct in warning me against keeping it for too long. It’s truly a foul piece of magic.”

“Then, with all due respect, Professor,” Harry says, “why haven’t you destroyed it yet?”

He can feel the unpleasant magic emanating from it, attempting to stick to his skin like grime. He glares at the offending object.

“I will,” Dumbledore says. “I promise,” he adds on, seeing Harry’s look.

“We took the cup out on the lake and destroyed it the other night,” he says. “They will corrupt your thoughts,” he says, not sure how to explain without revealing too much. “Your heart.”

Dumbledore nods gravely like he understands.

“I’ll destroy it,” he promises again.

Satisfied, Harry and Hermione stand. They take their leave, wishing the Headmaster goodnight. 

~o~o~o~o~

“What’d you find out?” Sirius asks Peter, later in the Boys’ Dormitory. They’re all gathered in Remus’ bed with the hangings pulled shut around the bed and a subtle charm on the door to let them know if anyone comes in.

“Nothing,” says Peter, miserably. “I couldn’t get through the door and I only heard quiet voices, nothing I could make out.”

James sighs, and Sirius tries to quell his disappointment. Well, it was worth a shot. They get back to studying.

James becomes more fanatical than ever about Quidditch practice. McGonagall even takes him aside once to ask if he’s all right, which he tells Sirius about later with a chagrined expression. He lets up a little on the morning practices after that, but Sirius is still sore in most of his body.

Sirius can’t even say why he’s so miserable. He thinks briefly he wouldn’t mind the practice if he knew there was a certain black-haired Potter-lookalike waiting in the stands cheering for him. He kills that thought before it has time to fester.

He would talk to Remus about it, but he seems to be avoiding the rest of them like dragon pox. Sirius doesn’t want to push him, but he’s curious about whatever was between him and Hermione. Sirius watched him come out of his shell whenever they were together, but now, with the betrayal, it seems Remus has retreated even further into himself than ever before.

~o~o~o~o~

Hermione sleeps badly that night. In her dreams she sees inferi, the kind she has seen illustrations of, mixed with pictures of other horrors her mind has accumulated. In the morning, she rubs her eyes which feel sore and tender. On unsteady feet, she grabs a soft robe, wrapping it around herself and goes out to the common area.

Harry sits by the fire which is already burning warm. She sits down next to him, drinking in the warmth from the hearth and Harry. He glances at her, and gives her a sympathetic look, so she assumes she must look as bad as she feels.

“Slept all right?” he asks.

She mutely shakes her head. He doesn’t ask any more, for which she is grateful, but he pulls her head down on his shoulder and she snuggles in. Before she knows it, she has fallen asleep.

She wakes disoriented when something beside her moves.

“Is it time?” she asks, sitting up, and Harry nods.

“We just got Dumbledore’s Patronus, just now,” he tells her. “We have time to eat before, if you want?”

Her stomach rumbles but she feels nauseous. 

“Maybe just some tea,” she says, doubting her ability to get anything down, but Harry looks relieved.

“Good, yes. I’ll call for Pipsy. She offered to get us something before.”

Pipsy shows up with a full English, getting help from another house-elf called Gibby. Hermione valiantly tries to show her appreciation despite feeling queasy. They serve up the food in great flourish while glancing around the room with critical eyes. Hermione blushes, seeing the mess they’ve made in just a few days, and reminds herself to clean up a little when they get back.

After breakfast, they head up to the Headmaster’s Tower, not really talking. It feels as if they’ve talked about nothing but Horcruxes for the last year, even if she knows that isn’t true. The Gargoyle guarding the office steps aside when they say ‘Fizzing Whizzbees’.

Dumbledore isn’t there when they knock on the door, so they wait a little before stepping inside the empty office. The silver instruments cluck and spin as usual. Hermione dreams of the day she gets to explore them and find out what each and every one actually does. She thinks when this is all over, she could ask the headmaster. 

She was never close to him in the original timeline but now she has met him on multiple occasions to discuss strategies and plans. She supposes it has to do with the fact that in this reality, Harry isn’t the Chosen One, or at least, Dumbledore doesn’t know he is, and so he doesn’t feel the need to prepare him or teach him like last time. Instead it’s a partnership where they all hold equally valuable attributes; she and Harry knowledge of the future and Dumbledore connections and wisdom.

“Shouldn’t he be here?” Harry asks, picking up a lemon drop to suck on. “He called us.”

“My apologies,” the man in question answers, appearing behind one of the stone columns Hermione didn’t know led anywhere. “I was briefly delayed by a meeting. I hope you haven’t waited long?”

“Not long,” Hermione answers politely.

“Are you ready to go, Professor?” Harry asks, a certain nervous energy to him Hermione recognizes from earlier missions.

“How are we going?” Hermione asks, because she assumed they would go by broom or Thestral, same as last time, but Dumbledore insisted they meet here, in his office, which she now suspects doesn’t fall in line with that idea.

“Ah, yes, I thought we could make use of Harry’s new Animagus. I trust you know the place we’re going?”

“Er,” Harry says, biting down on the lemon drop before swallowing painfully. “Yeah, I could probably get us there. I think.”

“Excellent,” Dumbledore says, smiling and completely disregarding Harry’s hesitation. “Would you like to prepare yourself or can you transform right away and bring both Miss Granger and me with you?”

Harry takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Hermione watches carefully. He has gotten much better at transforming indoors. After that near catastrophe in the Shrieking Shack he has been practicing in the Room of Requirement. It still takes a good minute before his features morph into the majestic bird.

“Ah, marvellous,” Dumbledore says in a quiet voice. Hermione’s not sure if he’s referring to the Phoenix or the transformation. Hermione still gets very emotional every time she sees Harry in his transformed state. The Phoenix is truly beautiful, and seeing it, and especially hearing it sing, touches her heart every time.

Hermione gathers herself and steps up to the bird. She looks into the large black eyes, briefly glimpsing Harry in the flash of joy she sees there, before she takes hold of his tail feathers. All at once she feels her body become light as air. Dumbledore takes hold of another feather. His face is completely calm, and she knows he is probably very used to traveling by Phoenix, so this doesn’t awe him the same way.

“Ready when you are,” Dumbledore says politely. Hermione nods.

Harry the Phoenix trills once. Warmth spreads all throughout her skin before centring in her heart. The world becomes light and distant. Then she blinks and they’re no longer in Dumbledore’s office.

The harsh winds hit her, and she grapples to take hold of Dumbledore and Harry, who has transformed back into himself, so as to not fall over. Saltwater crashes against the cliff in loud roars.

“Easily the best method of transport,” Harry yells over the wind and sea. He’s grinning. “And I even managed to land us on the cliffs.”

“As opposed to?”

“The sea!”

Hermione looks down on the black water and shudders.

“Well done,” Dumbledore says. “Now, you mentioned a cave somewhere around here?”

They end up not escaping the sea after all. Hermione tries desperately not to bemoan the fact of the cold bath too much, but by the time she feels the stone steps underneath her feet and ascends from the sea, she is shivering so hard her teeth are threatening to bite not just her tongue but the inside of her cheeks as well.

They all perform warming- and drying spells on themselves. Hermione wonders if they did this the last time as well, when Dumbledore was both older and hurt from the curse to his hand. She must remember to ask Harry some time.

Harry leads them to the stonewall.

“There is a lock of sorts,” he explains. “Last time you sensed the magic somehow and you said you had to bleed on the rock.”

Harry flips up a small knife and cuts the palm of his hand before either of them can stop him. He bleeds on the rock by pressing his hand to the sealed wall. As soon as the rock gives way to an entrance, Hermione grabs Harry’s hand and heals the wound there. She very admirably refrains from berating Harry for inflicting wounds on himself he can’t heal.

Inside is completely dark. As soon as they step inside the wall behind them closes. It’s like stepping into an inferno. A tropic heat so sweltering and overpowering, Hermione gasps for breath. It’s like being in a sauna; the air feels wet and like she can’t get enough oxygen down her lungs.

“Lumos,” Harry says, and the cave lights up in a dim blue light.

The cave is also empty. No lake, no boat, no inferi. Just a vast darkness expanding further than she can see and a deep pit where Hermione supposes the lake will come to be later. Her stomach sinks as she peers over the ledge, trying to get a grasp of how deep it is. She can’t see the bottom. Just darkness which seems endless. She steps back quickly, swallowing down nausea.

“We didn’t really expect him to set it up this far in advance though, did we?” Harry reasons, an answer to the unspoken question. He’s looking across the pit to where Hermione supposes is where the island Harry spoke of will be, although they can’t see it now. There’s no green light to signify its presence and it’s too far away to make out in the darkness.

“No, I suppose not. But it would have been easier to try and find a countermeasure to the potion if we could take a sample of it,” Hermione says.

“I suppose,” Harry agrees. “Do you think we could leave some sort of alarm? Something to let us know when he’s coming?”

Hermione shakes her head but it’s Dumbledore who answers.

“Magic always leaves a trace and I’m afraid Tom would be able to tell there was magical tampering. He’ll be sure to look very carefully at this place before setting up his defences and he’ll notice if we set up any kind of alarm or ward or signal. We’ll simply have to wait and hope young Mr Black keeps his word.”

Hermione bites her lip. Putting her trust in Regulus isn’t her first choice but it’s the only thing they’ve managed to come up with. Other than wait until they’re sure the locket will be placed here and go after that, but it feels wrong to let the youngest Black die when they can save him. She’s not sure the wager is worth it, though. She doesn’t tell Harry this.

“We should go,” Harry says. His words echo around the cave, bouncing against the walls on every side of them, sending his words back to them in an odd and distorted echo. Hermione shivers.

They head back the same way they came. Harry transforms into a Phoenix. The same warmth from before envelops Hermione when she grips the feathers of the bird, and soon they’re back in Scotland highlands.


	28. Murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thank you for your support - your words and kudos brighten my day!
> 
> A small, I dunno warning?, this chapter, along with the two previous and the next one, have gone through major reworking before posting and I hope I haven't missed some logical leap - I corrected one as late as ten minutes ago. Hopefully that was the last one, but if something doesn't make sense, I apologise.
> 
> Now, enjoy! :D

They play the Slytherins the first weekend of June. The team dressed in green look on meanly when James tries to shake their team captain’s hand still with his broom in it. Sirius realizes belatedly that he has accidentally put on his robes inside out. He tries to catch one of his team-mates’ eyes, but they all studiously avoid him.

“I want to see a fair game,” the referee tells them.

Sirius is looking over at the other team’s Seeker. Regulus is standing between the Beaters, looking all the smaller for it. He has his hair tied back in a braid; a fashion Sirius gave up the second he made friends with James who told him it looked ridiculous. 

“Mount!” the referee yells and then the whistle sounds. 

The match passes in a daze. Vaguely, Sirius knows he holds the Quaffle at points, but he’s not sure what happens after that. In the end, Regulus catches the Snitch. Ruxon looks like he might make a run for it, obviously having received a healthy dose of James’ fanaticism and fearing the retribution at failing to catch the Snitch. When Sirius sees James, though, he looks blank.

They shake after the match. Sirius wonders if he’ll have to run intervention on behalf of James, but the blankness remains throughout the polite thanking and congratulations to the winning team. In the changing rooms after, James tells them they did a good job to the fearful-looking team. He wishes them good luck next year, telling them he’s sure they’ll get their revenge then.

The Gryffindors don’t throw a celebratory party after the match, but they still get roaring drunk. Next week the exams will begin, and everybody is dying to get a chance to relax before then. Sirius silently accepts his shot glass of Firewhiskey and downs it with his friends, team-mates and fellow Gryffindors. He doesn’t remember much after that.

~o~o~o~o~

They recover from their hang-overs the normal way since the Hang-over potion is banned at Hogwarts, something Sirius thinks is the teachers’ last attempt at teaching the students responsibility, apparently unable to keep alcohol from entering the common rooms. 

The week that follows is filled with last-minute studying, a lot of snapping at over-extended students and several nervous breakdowns. Sirius and the other Marauders get through it with _fairly_ high dignity. Peter pukes before both of his two only exams. Remus looks paler than a sheet of paper and James has red eyes and dark bags under them. Sirius enters the kind of grey reality he used to frequent a lot of the time while still living at Grimmauld Place, when his mother used to let her displeasure be known through a series of dark and guaranteed outlawed hexes sent his and Regulus’ way.

They see Harry and Hermione in the groups taking their exams but make no attempt to talk to them. They can’t spare the brainpower, and, even if Sirius doesn’t tell anyone this, it hurts just looking at them. Looking at Harry. Harry and Hermione seem to feel the same way, as they go out of their way to remain as far away from the Marauders as possible.

When Sirius steps out of the last exam into the sunlight, it feels like new life takes flight in his chest. He breathes in the air, smelling the grass, the sunlight and flowers. Tired but pleased smiles greet him when he turns to check on his friends. They made it.

They lounge in the shadows of a great willow by the Black Lake, throwing flat rocks that bounce on the still water. James is snuggled close to Lily who has fallen asleep against his chest. Peter is making small whistly sounds through a thick grass straw, looking delighted as the melody entices a bunch of bowtruckles to come looking.

They don’t bother to go in for supper, preferring to stay out in the warmth. They haven’t seen much of the summer in the last week. A pleasant house-elf which Sirius can’t remember the name of but vaguely recognizes from the kitchens, bring them sandwiches and pumpkin juice.

When the sun dances red on the horizon, creating beautiful reflections on the water, they reluctantly agree they should head back inside. In a couple of days, they’ll ride across the lake in honours and leave Hogwarts as students no more.

James is throwing one last rock into the water, watching silently as the Giant Squid catches it and tosses back.

“We should talk to them, shouldn’t we?” he asks quietly to the others. Sirius pauses to look at him, uncertain. “They’re our friends?” James says, and Sirius wishes he couldn't hear the silent question mark at the end of the sentence. “We should give them a chance to explain.”

“We already did,” says Remus, looking down on his feet, a deep frown etched into his forehead. “Didn’t do us much good.”

“They said they couldn’t tell us yet,” Sirius reminds him, not really sure which side of this argument he wants to be.

“We should offer to listen one more time. We owe them that,” Lily says, who’s been told the whole story.

“Should we?” Sirius asks, looking out at the lake where he took Harry flying once. He wonders, for the thousandth time about the conversation he overheard between Harry and Hermione in the Boys’ Dormitory before Christmas. 

_“You love him,” Hermione says in a low voice. “I can’t even imagine how hard this is for you, Harry, but I don’t think we can tell him. Any of them.”_

Love. Harry loves him. Maybe. Hermione said so. Harry didn’t refute her, but he didn’t agree, either. And they were clearly in disagreement about whether to tell Sirius or not. He then thinks about their conversation from a few weeks ago:

_“You’ll find out,” Harry says to them._

_“When?”_

_“In time.”_

“Yes,” James says, sounding utterly convinced. It helps make something settle in Sirius. Yes, they should try one more time. It is what friends do.

They go back to the castle, a new sort of resolution in the air between them. Lighter than he has been for weeks, Sirius marches with his friends, eager to see Harry.

They’re disappointed when they don’t find the pair in the common room or any of the dormitories. They haven’t been there since the last full moon, but Sirius stupidly thought that they would return, but of course not. Of course, the world doesn’t change just because they’ve written some tests and school is coming to an end. They’ve already done all this, he reminds himself. It’s only him growing sentimental about things.

“Maybe they’ll show up for breakfast?” James offers, looking as downtrodden as Sirius feels.

“Or we’ll see them on graduation,” Lily says, although she, too, looks disappointed.

They go to bed, not exactly happy, but more hopeful than before.

~o~o~o~o~

They don’t see Harry and Hermione at breakfast the next morning either. It’s Remus who finally realizes that Ancient Runes have their last exams today rather than yesterday. It fills them with hope yet again.

They keep a lookout for Hermione, who’s the only one who takes Ancient Runes, and breathe a sigh of relief when she appears with the other students - a small group of no more than seven students. They don’t talk to her on Lily’s strict orders.

“She needs to focus! You can’t distract her when she’s taking one of her life’s biggest tests!”

So they hang around. Peter beats them all in Exploding Snap. Remus almost bites Sirius’ head off when he accidentally splashes a book Remus is reading. James drives them all insane when he insists on releasing and catching a Snitch he has stolen from the team’s practice equipment.

They don’t talk about the absent people but it’s on everyone’s mind. Sirius scans the grounds every two minutes looking for Harry. James confiscated the Marauders’ Map from him after he spent too much time trying to search for Harry on it.

It’s not until the afternoon, when the last part of the Ancient Runes exam finishes up, that they all get their things, and they march up to the castle. They stop at the end of the corridor to the classroom where the exam is held, looking at the passing students who all look tired and, most, look happy. Hermione isn’t among them. They wait another ten minutes.

Harry shows up, coming from the other side of the corridor. He looks the same as always; composed, weary. Handsome. Sirius feels a sting in his hands and, looking down, he realizes he has clenched his fists tightly enough for his nails to dig into his palms.

“Should we say something?” Lily asks, looking uncertain. She hasn’t got much of a relationship with Harry, Sirius knows. Once Harry stopped spending so much time staring at her, and Lily started relaxing a little, they could probably have become friends if it wasn’t for the whole cloak thing.

“Let’s wait until Hermione comes out,” Remus says after no one answers. “We don’t want him to run off.”

Hermione comes out a little while later. Harry hands her something to eat and they talk in quiet voices. When they leave, they don’t go towards the Gryffindor Tower, or the Great Hall or even out on the grounds.

The Marauders follow silently behind. They can’t follow too closely for risk of being noticed since they didn’t bring the cloak, and are too many to fit under it besides, but are still confident they’ll manage to find out where they’re heading. They have the Map, after all.

Which is why they’re rather stumped when they lose track of them somewhere on the sixth floor.

“They were just there,” Remus says, sounding disconcerted.

“Where?” Lily asks.

Remus points for her and they all watch the empty corridor one floor up. No little dot marking their existence. No nothing.

They march up there anyway, scouting the corridor, the adjoining ones as well as the classrooms and broom cupboards. 

“Do we just...wait?” Lily asks, sounding uncertain.

They all shrug, not sure what else to do. They don’t know where they disappeared to. They’re not even sure they’re close.

So they wait, for a rather long while in fact, but no one comes back. James scans the Map, increment by increment, but there’s no denying the obvious. They’re gone.

“Do you- do you think maybe they left?” Lily asks into the quiet.

“What?” Sirius demands, not sure how to feel about this. “What do you mean, they left? Why do you think that? _How_ would they leave?”

“Maybe they opened the Floo Network in one of the fireplaces?” Remus suggests.

“You don’t think they _left_ left, right?” Sirius asks, a cold lump forming in his chest. “They wouldn’t just leave without saying goodbye, right?”

The others look stricken.

“They’ll want to be part of the ceremony though, right?” Lily says, but she doesn’t sound very sure.

“Of course they will,” James says, sounding equally uncertain.

They don’t come to any conclusion. Instead they head back to the Great Hall for supper. They all look and feel rather glum about the whole thing which is why none of them notice for a while the whispering taking place in the hall.

“What’s everyone saying?” Peter finally asks when he notices the hushed talks going around.

Sirius looks up and sees what he’s referring to. Large groups of the Slytherins are sitting huddled together, whispering and shooting looks over their shoulders. Sirius immediately searches out Regulus and finds him pale as a sheet, staring into his lap.

Sirius is already standing, ready to march over there, when James pulls him back down.

“Sit down, Pads. You don’t know what’s going on.”

“I need to find out!”

“Peter’s already solving that for us,” James says quietly. 

Sirius looks back at Peter to find him missing. He just catches him leaving out the doors to the Great Hall and not a moment later, Wormtail sprints back, heading towards the Slytherin table.

They sit in silence while they wait for Peter. Sirius keeps glancing over at Regulus, but he doesn’t appear to notice. He doesn’t talk to any of his housemates, either.

Finally, Peter walks back in. He’s trying to act casual, Sirius can guess, but he’s walking too fast and he’s red in the face.

“What is it?” Sirius asks before he has even had a chance to sit down.

Peter sits down and bends in low to whisper: “Rodolphus Lestrange has been killed. Murdered.”

Sirius sits back. James looks worried. Remus and Lily both are looking unsure. They don’t know what it means. Sirius hardly knows what it means.

“Did they say anything else?” James asks.

“They think the Lestranges have displeased the Dark Lord and this was his punishment.”

They all consider this, thinking back to how the man had lain unconscious on the floor of the Shrieking Shack not that long ago. How Dumbledore promised the authorities would collect him. How it was revealed that their supposedly just a bit weird housemates are actually Aurors on a secret undercover mission.

“Maybe You-Know-Who found out he was compromised,” James says. He looks worried and guilty. “Decided to tie up loose ends.”

They shudder at this implication. Sirius again looks over at Regulus. He appears to be getting out of his weird zone-out. When he gets up to leave, Sirius follows. Out in the corridor he puts a hand on Regulus’ shoulder.

“Hey, Reg, what’s-” he begins but Regulus shakes his hand off.

“Let off!” he says, giving Sirius a glare and marches away.

“What happened?” James asks, who comes up beside Sirius and just sees Regulus’ storm-off. Sirius shrugs.

“What always happens,” he says, ignoring the sting in his chest. “Let’s get back to the common room.”

They don’t get that far. Remus catches up to them. He gnaws his lips but eventually says: “Don’t you think we should tell Professor Dumbledore?”

“What?” Sirius asks, angry and not having a good place to put everything he’s feeling.

Remus frowns and pulls at the sleeves of his robes. Sirius wishes he wouldn’t; the hems are already frayed as it is.

“Well,” he says slowly. “About Lestrange. He would want to know, wouldn’t he?”

“Won’t he already know?” James demands. “He’s sure to have ears everywhere.”

Remus blushes slightly.

“Maybe,” he admits. “Probably. But if he hasn’t heard yet, we’ll get the chance to ask him about it. Aren’t you curious?”

Sirius admits to himself, if to no one else, that he is. He wants to know about the murder and its connection to Harry and Hermione.

“Where is he?” he asks, rather than answering. “His office?”

Remus pulls up the Map and scans it quickly. Peter joins them a moment later, looking for an explanation at their tense expressions. His eyes grow wide when James tells him what they’re doing.

“Hm, no…” Remus says in a murmuring voice, oblivious to their whispered discussion.

“Where else?” James demands, quickly brought back to the task at hand. “Has he left the school again? When there’s been a murder?”

“You don’t think he’s…” Sirius begins but doesn’t want to finish the question, _involved_. James seems to understand him and looks equally uncomfortable as Sirius feels. James shakes his head, and some tension bleeds out of Sirius.

“Where is he then?” Sirius asks again to Remus who is still searching.

“Oh,” Remus says with faint surprise.

“What?” James and Sirius say at the same time.

“He’s in his office.”

“What?” Sirius says again, angry this time. “Are you pulling our arms right now, Moony?” he asks, indignant, but Remus shakes his head.

“It’s ‘leg’, and no, sorry,” Remus apologises. “He just arrived. I didn’t see where he was before, but he just got back to his office.”

The four of them look at each other.

“Let’s go.”

The Gargoyle gives them a nasty look but agrees to ask for the Headmaster. Sirius fidgets with his wand while he waits. When the Gargoyle finally steps aside, they shuffle up the spiral staircase. The door opens when they push it.

“Professor Dumbledore!” Sirius says into the chorus of the Marauders all speaking, trying to get answers. 

“What can I help you with this fine evening?” Dumbledore asks, meeting them in the middle of the room. His robes are wet, and down by his feet they’re dirty with grime.

“It’s Rodolphus Lestrange, sir,” James says. Dumbledore’s expression changes. It’s miniscule, but Sirius is watching for it, so he sees it.

“What about Rodolphus?” Dumbledore asks. “His trial is coming up-”

“He’s been killed,” Sirius says, watching intently. His insides twist worrisomely when Dumbledore pales. “People think it’s You-Know-Who. We thought you might know differently. You oversaw his arrest, did you not?”

“Yes, I did, but since the Ministry took him, I’ve had no hand in his fate. Where did you hear this?”

“Overheard the Slytherins talking about it,” James says, which is not really a lie.

“Have you spoken to your brother, Mr Black?” Dumbledore asks Sirius, very seriously. An ice-cold hand grips around Sirius’ heart.

“Why do you ask me that?”

“No mind,” Dumbledore quickly waves it away. “Thank you for bringing this to me. I need to speak with someone. If you’d be so kind,” he says, gesturing for them to leave.

“What about what he knows? What he saw?”

“I’ve taken care of that,” Dumbledore explains.

“You-Know-Who is a powerful Legilimens,” Sirius counters, ignoring the sharp look James throws him.

“And I’m very good at mind magic,” Dumbledore answers. “I really must ask you to leave now.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before pulling out his wand. He creates a majestic Phoenix Patronus which he looks at briefly before it flies away.

Sirius is still trying to ask him what’s going on when Dumbledore closes the door in their faces.

“Come on,” James says, pulling Sirius away.

“He knows something about Reggie!” Sirius yells but James puts a firm hand over his mouth. Sirius splutters.

“ _Of course_ he does,” James answers in a whisper. “And if you value his life, you’ll be quiet now.”

Sirius is too confused to argue. He lets James pull him and the others away. They round a corner where Peter transforms into a rat and James pulls the cloak over the others just in time to see Harry and Hermione come running.

“He didn’t say anything!” Harry’s yelling over his shoulder at Hermione.

“All right, just hurry!” Hermione calls back. 

The Marauders follow them back to the Headmaster’s office. They still can’t make out the password when Harry tells the Gargoyle, but they shuffle in behind the pair as close as they dare.

~o~o~o~o~

“Professor, we got your Patronus,” Harry says as he pushes the door open to Dumbledore’s office. “What’s happened?”

“Rodolphus Lestrange has been killed; Sirius and the other boys were just here and told me all about it. I haven’t had a chance to confirm it yet, but I thought it best to inform you as soon as I heard.”

Hermione gasps. Harry visibly jerks.

“You-” Harry begins.

“I performed the obliviating and confounding myself, but I’m also aware that I’m not infallible, and the mind is a tricky thing. If Voldemort was truly searching for answers inside his mind, I cannot guarantee he didn’t get them.” 

“Who killed him?” Hermione asks, dreading the answer.

“I don’t know. The boys seemed quite convinced it was Voldemort himself. I’m not sure.”

“Who else?” Harry asks, putting words to Hermione’s thoughts.

“Someone who didn’t want the Death Eater to go to his trial, perhaps? A member of the Lestrange family who couldn’t face the shame? There are multiple possibilities.”

“Have you spoken to Regulus?” Harry asks.

A small thud is heard from further back in the office. Hermione looks over but can’t see what could have made the sound. She casts a silencing charm around them anyway. Can’t hurt to be too cautious.

“I haven’t,” Dumbledore answers. “I don’t think I should, either. It might awaken suspicions we rather let lie.”

“I’ll see if I can get him alone,” Harry says.

“Be very cautious of who you let see,” Dumbledore warns. 

Harry nods.

“Was there anything else…?”

“No. I’m sorry for worrying you. I didn’t want to speak lest you be with other students who could overhear. I’ll try to find out what happened to Rodolphus. You focus on Regulus.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

“Not at all,” Dumbledore says, rounding a table to sit down in his chair. “Have your exams gone well? I suspect you Miss Granger will find them rather repetitive at times. I’m afraid the Ministry doesn’t often update their questions. I think even I encountered many of the same ones.” Hermione blushes, because she was thinking the same thing at the time. “Or maybe that has changed in the time you come here?”

“Are you fishing, Professor?” she asks with slightly raised eyebrows.

“You have caught me,” Dumbledore says, mirth shining in his blue eyes. Hermione tsks but can’t contain a small smile. 

“Are you saying they give the same exams to students every year?” Harry asks, aghast. “How is it no one cheats?”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione says, exasperated. “The magic surrounding the exams are extensive. I would have thought you noticed that?” Harry looks blank so she continues. “Or at least suspected it, you know, since we can’t use our own quills and sign our names and everything. Can you tell me a single question from one of the exams?”

Harry mumbles something Hermione can’t hear and looks away.

“It is quite eloquently done,” Dumbledore agrees. “And the best part, I think, is how most students will never realize. It took me until the O.W.L.s to understand I think.”

Hermione doesn’t want to sound obnoxious, so she doesn’t mention she guessed at it first year and got it confirmed after the second when she didn’t get to take hers.

“It’s quite ingenious,” she agrees instead.

“Unbelievable,” she hears Harry mutter.

“I shan’t keep you any longer. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Of course,” answers Hermione. “Good night, Professor.”

“Goodnight, Harry, Hermione,” Dumbledore says, giving them each a kind smile.

~o~o~o~o~

The Marauders follow the pair as quietly as they can when they exit. The Phoenix sitting on the pedestal by the Headmaster’s office looks their way, but it’s probably just looking at Harry and Hermione, Sirius tells himself.

Harry and Hermione don’t stop once out of the staircase but walk away briskly. The Marauders can’t follow underneath the Invisibility Cloak, not with three people and walking fast. The three quickly exchange looks.

“I’ll follow, you come after with the Map,” James says. The others nod.

They step out from under the cloak and Sirius can only faintly hear the sounds of James’ footsteps receding.

“I solemnly swear I’m up to no good,” Remus says, pointing his wand to the Map.

When the ink has bled out to form the map of Hogwarts, they quickly locate Harry and Hermione, hurrying up the floors. James and Peter are in hot pursuit.

They have to stop every other turn to make sure they’re not catching up or running into anyone else. Remus keeps a lookout on James and Peter’s progress. When Harry and Hermione have reached the seventh floor, Sirius is starting to wonder where they’re heading. There’s nothing there, nothing of interest anyways.

“Wait,” Remus says once they’re just one corridor away. Sirius stops and looks at him inquiringly. “They’ve stopped.”

They peer around the corner, seeing Harry and Hermione walking back and forth a stretch of the corridor, almost like they’ve got lost, or are searching for something. They don’t see James and Peter, but they know they’re there of course. Sirius gasps out loud when a door appears in the wall. Harry and Hermione step inside.

“They’ve disappeared,” Remus says, confirming Sirius’ suspicions. “There’s a room in Hogwarts which the Map can’t see. Fascinating.”

“Yes, fascinating, but also - _what the hell?_ ” Sirius says. 

They round the corner fully and see the door disappear, melting away until it looks like nothing more than a blank stone wall.

“Did they make it in?” Sirius asks just as James pulls the cloak off.

“Shite!” James says. “There’s a room-”

“-the Map can’t see,” Remus fills in. “I know. Incredible.”

James steps up to the wall, feeling with his hands over the stone as if willing the door into existence will make it appear again. Wormtail scurries down from the pocket of James’ robes and transforms.

“At least we know where they’re always disappearing to.”

“Yes, and we can stalk out this place and get inside next time,” Sirius says, feeling triumph swelling in his chest. Finally, they’ll get some answers!

“I think we’re forgetting something,” Remus says. They turn to look at him. “Term is almost over. We’ve barely seen them at all since the full moon, exams aside, and now that they’re done…”

“We probably won’t see them again,” James finishes grimly. “Shite,” he says again.

“Could we just stay here?” Peter suggests, looking suspiciously at the empty wall. “They’ll have to come out sometime, won’t they?”

James looks tempted but he finally shakes his head.

“I don’t think we’ll see them again until graduation.”

“Shouldn’t we try? They know something about _Regulus_ ,” Sirius says, whispering his brother’s name, despite knowing they’re alone. He doesn’t feel satisfied with this ending.

“We’ll talk to them at graduation and if they don’t tell the truth then…. Well, at least we’ll know we’re not really friends.”

They all sober at this proclamation. Sirius considers it. They’ve given the transfer students every chance to come clean and they’ve been given nothing but lies. In honour of friendship they’ll give them one last chance. Then they’ll know the reality of being enemies of the Marauders, he thinks grimly.

“Agreed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I might've broken James...!


	29. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've had so much joy reading your comments from the last chapters. I'm so glad you enjoyed the post exam euphoria. I don't know whether to laugh or cry at your anger at the Marauders. I'd like to say in their defence that they *are* just teenagers, and I like to think Harry inherited his suspicion and investigative skills from somewhere (and let us all be glad he had a Hermione to help him out).

In the papers the next day they read about the murder of Rodolphus Lestrange. The Daily Prophet is very vague about the whole thing, but it’s clear they believe it’s Voldemort who has done it. Harry takes a moment to mourn the investigative reporter who wrote this piece.

They’re taking their breakfast in the kitchens as has become their habit. Harry thinks maybe they should get back to their dormitories and the Great Hall for these last few days, but he’s afraid of their reception. He doesn’t think he can bear being hated by his dad or face the suspicion on Sirius’ face.

“Do you think it’s Voldemort?” Hermione asks him, sipping her morning tea. She’s looking tired and worried. Harry can relate.

They’re speaking in low voices so as to not be overheard by the scuttling house-elves fixing up breakfast for the students above.

“No,” Harry says. “I wouldn’t even be sure he was dead if it weren’t for the Slytherins also thinking so. It seems out of character for Voldemort to kill his followers. He didn’t even kill Bellatrix when she messed up our capture in the original timeline.”

Hermione hums at this.

“No, but by then Bellatrix must have shown true faithfulness to him. Maybe the Lestranges aren’t as affluent yet.”

“Or maybe he just hasn’t considered he might lose, and is more ‘fast and loose’ with punishment now. What’s one less Death Eater and what not?” Harry says, but it still doesn’t feel right. “Either way, we won’t know for certain.”’

Harry sweeps the kitchens. He knows he won’t find Dobby in the masses. Or at least he thinks he won’t. He rather believes he knows Dobby and the house-elf would come and say hello if he was freed from the Malfoys. On the other hand, he doesn’t have the same kind of relationship with the brave elf he once did.

“I’m sure he’ll show,” Hermione says kindly. Harry doesn’t answer. She clears her throat. “I think we should talk to Regulus today.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, swallowing his toast with difficulty. “We need to check in to make sure Voldemort doesn’t suspect anything.”

“But we need to be careful,” Hermione says.

“Maybe we should wait by the Slytherin Common Room underneath the Invisibility Cloak. Get him before breakfast.”

Harry checks his wristwatch. They’ll just barely have time before breakfast officially starts. He hasn’t kept an eye on Regulus for the past few months for nothing. He knows Regulus is an early riser and one of the first seen in the Great Hall every morning.

“All right, let’s go.”

They thank the house-elves and step outside the kitchens. Harry pulls the Invisibility Cloak over them and together they walk as quickly as they dare to the Slytherin Common Room. Harry checks the Marauders’ Map just to be sure they haven’t missed him and breathes a sigh of relief when he confirms there’s no one in the Great Hall yet.

He thinks they’ll only have to wait a few minutes, tops, to see Regulus, so the nervous energy he’s been harbouring ever since he heard of the murder of Rodolphus Lestrange is quick to settle under his skin. They see several Slytherins come out of their common room but none of them is Regulus.

“Is he still sleeping?” Hermione asks, pointing to the Map.

Harry pulls it up to study closer. The Slytherin Common Room is still packed full of Slytherins, making it difficult to make out any names in the mass of small black dots. He identifies the sixth years’ Boys’ Dormitory and curses when he finds Regulus’ year-mates but not the boy himself.

“He’s not there.”

“Oh no!” Hermione whispers, almost too loudly as a passing Slytherin girl turns around to check what the noise was. “Do you think _he’s_ taken him?”

Harry shakes his head, not knowing.

“We can’t ask anyone, not without raising suspicion. We’ll have to check Grimmauld Place. Maybe he’s been taken home.”

“Shouldn’t we talk to Professor Dumbledore first?”

“If he knew he would have told us yesterday. We agreed we’ll check on Regulus and he’ll find out more about Rodolphus.”

They don’t bother going back to the Room of Requirement. Instead they unlock an empty classroom, check to make sure no one’s nearby, and then Harry transforms into his Animagus. He _flashes_ them to the London Borough of Islington in a carefully chosen dark alleyway.

“Your Animagus form is quite possibly the most useful thing you could have become,” Hermione says, gently petting his head, before he turns back to human.

Harry grins at her.

“Yeah, imagine how little use I would have had of a stag!”

He pulls out the Invisibility Cloak and throws it over himself and Hermione. They walk to No. 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry breathes a sigh of relief when he can see the house. He doesn’t know if they don’t have a Fidelius over it yet or if he simply will always be able to see it given he is the rightful owner to it, twenty years into the future, give or take.

Harry steps out from the cloak and knocks on the door and waits. No sound is coming from the inside, but there wouldn’t. No respectable wizard lets the sound from inside their homes leak out.

After two gruelling minutes the door creaks open. Inside a slightly younger but equally suspicious and ugly Kreacher looks up at him.

“No strangers welcome,” Kreacher tells him snottily and tries to close the door. Harry quickly jams his foot between it and the wall, ignoring the pain when the house-elf still attempts to slam the door shut.

“Kreacher!” Harry says, thinking fast. “I’m a friend of Regulus! Would you please let me talk to him?”

“Stranger know of Kreacher? Stranger claims to be friends with young Master Regulus yet Kreacher has never seen him before. Kreacher thinks he is lying. Kreacher will be telling Mistress of this.”

“No, wait, please Kreacher! I just need to speak with Regulus for two seconds. Will you please go get him?”

Kreacher looks no less suspicious, peering up at Harry.

“Stranger looks to be descendant of the Potter Family… blood-traitors the lot of them. Mistress won’t allow blood-traitors into the Ancestral home of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.”

“Kreacher, is Regulus there? If you could just get him for a second and then I’ll leave you alone?”

Hermione says nothing, remaining silent and still underneath the cloak. Harry doesn’t know if Kreacher can recognize Muggle-borns on sight, but he guesses they have a better shot if he doesn’t see her. He feels vindicated in his choice when Kreacher immediately guesses his lineage without knowing he’s the first one to put words to this since they arrived.

“Kreacher isn’t allowed to let strangers into the house…”

“You don’t need to let me in. You can just tell Regulus I’m here and I’ll speak to him outside.”

Kreacher holds the door with an iron-tight grip and still occasionally tries to shut it, further torturing Harry’s foot.

“Young Master Regulus isn’t home,” Kreacher finally admits. Harry’s heart sinks.

“Is he home from school?” he tries to coax out of the reluctant house-elf.

“Young Master Regulus came home yesterday evening so he could attend family business.”

“What sort of family business?” Harry asks at once.

“Family business sort of family business,” Kreacher answers, an evil glint in his eye, smirking up at Harry.

“Yeah, but what sort of-”

“It’s for family to know. Stranger isn’t family. Stranger should leave now or Kreacher will call Mistress to deal with stranger.”

“All right,” Harry says quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “I’ll go. Thank you for telling me, Kreacher.”

“Blood-traitor, nothing but scum and filth,” Kreacher says as he closes the door when Harry takes his foot out.

Hermione pulls him underneath the cloak again. Her eyes are wide and she’s pale.

“Do you think You-Know-Who called for the family? There didn’t seem to be anyone else home… Do you think he called on everyone?”

“I don’t know, but we should check the cave, just to make sure we haven’t accidentally pushed up the timeline.”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“What choice do we have? We can’t just let him disappear!”

From the same alleyway they came, they _flash_ to the cave. The sea is just as cold and dark, waves crashing up on the rock. Harry can barely hear himself think over the roaring wind. 

They walk underneath the Invisibility Cloak to the hidden cave opening. Hermione sacrifices blood this time and heals herself with a soft murmur and a graceful wave of her wand. Harry reminds himself to ask her to teach him when they’re not on a rescue mission.

Inside the darkness is just as thick and the sweltering heat suffocating. He wonders why it’s so hot. He remembers it as cold, a windbreak from the forceful winds outside, but not warm. Certainly not this tropically hot climate.

There’s no one there, but Harry can feel something is different. He looks for the island, but there’s no light coming from the other side, green or otherwise. Nothing but a vast expanse of darkness which he knows will one day be filled with water. The lake hasn’t appeared yet either of course and the pit seems just as deep and sinister. He shudders and looks away.

“He’s not here,” he says to Hermione. She’s standing by the edge looking down, a frown visible on her face. “What’s the matter?” Harry asks, glancing down where she’s looking. Endless darkness.

“Does it…” she starts but pauses, biting her lip, still frowning. “Does it look like it’s moving?”

Harry feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He steps closer to her and looks down as well. It’s so far down and so dark he can’t make out anything at all. After a while though, he thinks he can manage to make out a difference in the darkness. Some parts seem even blacker than others. Pushing his glasses up he rubs his eyes and then concentrates. It’s so far down he almost gets a case of vertigo since he can’t get any depth perception in the darkness. Then, squinting, he thinks he can almost make out a slight movement. 

“Maybe,” he says, unsure. “It’s hard to tell.”

Hermione jerks and looks at him. Her eyes are wide, but soon she blinks it away.

“We should go,” she says, voice wavering a little. “Maybe someone at Hogwarts knows what happened to him. One of the Slytherins…”

Harry shakes off the unsettling feeling from the pit, nods at Hermione and marches out of the cave. The coldness outside after the sweltering heat inside is a shock to his system and he gasps and begins shivering.

“Let’s hurry!” he yells over the wind. 

Hermione nods at him and he transforms into his Phoenix. Hermione gently grabs his tail feathers, and he feels her become a part of him, carried in his heart. He focuses on Hogwarts and lets the fire in the pit of his stomach swell and expand until it engulfs him. 

When he opens his eyes, they’ve appeared in the Headmaster’s office. The silence is almost as deafening as the noise from the sea. It’s empty so they assume Dumbledore’s away on business, probably finding out more about Rodolphus.

“Should we check with Professor Slughorn?” Hermione suggests into the silence.

Harry nods. They head out from the office. Fawkes trills at them on the way. It’s a warm sound which resonates in Harry. He pauses to look briefly at the bird. Fawkes looks back with his black, kind eyes. Almost like a promise, although he doesn’t know what for, Harry nods. Fawkes trills again. An agreement.

Hermione holds the door open for him, watching over the exchange with a curious expression. Harry shrugs and passes her. 

They go to the dungeons, thinking they’ll find the Head of House in his office. They’re just about to knock on his door when it opens. Dumbledore steps out. He takes a look at them, dishevelled and pale, and breathes a sigh of relief. Harry is just about to open his mouth to speak but Dumbledore puts a finger to his lips in a shushing motion. He turns back in the door to Slughorn.

“Thank you, Horace. I’ll see you at lunch. I hear the elves are preparing a veritable feast for us.” 

Then he shuts the door, effectively shielding Slughorn from seeing them. He ushers them back through the corridor until they’re more shielded from view should anyone pass by, and then he speaks.

“I gather you’ve heard Regulus is gone.”

“Yes, we couldn’t find him on the Map, so we thought maybe he was taken-”

“I’ve spoken to Horace and he tells me the young Mister Black left early to attend Lucius and Narcissa’s wedding. When I couldn’t find you, I realized you must have left to look for him.”

Oh. Well, now he feels stupid. Heat travels up his neck and he looks down.

“We thought- because he left so abruptly…”

“Completely understandable. I myself thought the same. I’ve told Horace to inform me if he ever sends one of the students away again. He assures me it was a unique situation and because Regulus is one of his best students…”

Harry understands all too well the Potions Master’s enthusiasm with granting a favour to one of the students he considers _his_. Harry tries not to let the anger smouldering in his chest erupt into anything more.

“I see,” he says to Dumbledore. “Thank you for telling us.”

“You’re very welcome,” Dumbledore says kindly. “We should go about business as usual. It’s the last day for you at Hogwarts, and it would be remiss of me to neglect to wish you both a happy sending-off and hope you enjoy your graduation ceremony.”

It’s with a jolt Harry remembers graduation. The dress-robes hang untouched in the closet while the rest of his belongings are spread out both in the Gryffindor Tower and the Room of Requirement, unpacked and unprepared for being sent to the carriage taking them to the Hogwarts Express. With some chagrin he realizes he has put the thought of this day off.

“Thank you, Professor.”

It’s not the last time they’ll see each other, not by a long shot, but it feels important, nonetheless. It feels like a moment that was stolen from him with the real Dumbledore, his Dumbledore, that he has now been granted anew. Dumbledore puts a hand on his shoulder and gazes at him with his clear blue eyes, and Harry meets those eyes and feels a great many things.

“I’ll see you soon, Harry,” Dumbledore says. “Hermione,” he adds, smiling at Hermione. 

Then he walks away, purple and blue robes dragging across the stone floor, his high heels clicking merrily, sound bouncing off the walls.

They pack their things. Hermione properly berates him for leaving it to the last minute. Harry finds a few stray socks and thinks of Dobby. He hopes he’s well.

When everything is packed except what they have in their dorms, they look at each other. Hermione is pale. Harry feels nauseous. But they’ll see the others soon anyway.

“Maybe they won’t be there,” Hermione says.

“With my luck, they definitely will.”

Hermione doesn’t refute this, a testament to how long she has known him.

Harry pats the doorframe to the Room of Requirement when he opens the door to leave, sending a silent thank you to the room. He’s convinced the room hears him, because a homey plaque appears on the door and, written in squiggly letters, it says: “Come again soon!”

Then the door melts back into the wall and disappears, and he thinks, maybe he will be back some day.

The steps up to the Gryffindor Tower feel heavier than usual. He realizes when they reach the portrait of the Fat Lady that he hasn’t known the passwords in weeks.

“Bubbletuts?” he tries weakly but the Fat Lady frowns at him.

“So, you _are_ still here,” she says. “I was beginning to wonder. Violet said you’d all gone ahead and left early, but I told her you’d been spotted. Especially down in the kitchens. Those dungeon dwelling folk do nothing but gossip-”

She would probably go on, but Hermione interrupts her.

“Can you let us in?”

The Fat Lady looks frankly affronted at this proposition and launches into a speech about honour and loyalty and whatnot. Harry doesn’t really hear her because Hermione makes use of her old strategy and just knocks straight on the canvas. Harry smothers a laugh which is threatening to bubble up at the sight of the insulted portrait.

“There ought to be _someone_ in there now,” Hermione mutters, ignoring the protesting portrait.

She’s right. They don’t have to wait long until a confused-looking first-year tentatively pushes the portrait open to peer out at them.

“Hello?” she says. Someone behind her yells at her to close the door if they don’t have the password.

Hermione smiles at the first-year and pushes herself inside.

“Thanks,” she says as she passes her. “Don’t open the door to strangers,” she adds.

Harry snorts, shrugging apologetically to the upset first-year who opens her mouth to object.

They each head up to their own dorm. Harry doesn’t see any of the Marauders in the common room, so he assumes they’ll all be up in the dorm. He takes a fortifying breath and opens the door.

It’s better and worse than he thought.

Inside is only Sirius, no sign of the others. He hasn’t noticed Harry yet but is frantically trying to stuff his trunk with what looks to be part of the interior design. Half the four-poster bed is on the way inside his expandable trunk.

“I don’t think it will fit,” Harry says.

Sirius jumps up, trying to hide what he’s doing, although he doesn’t succeed by any stretch of the imagination. When he realizes it’s Harry, though, he stiffens.

“Harry,” he says, looking off to the side, giving up his attempt at hiding his project.

“Sirius,” Harry says, taking a careful step inside.

“Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’ve been, er… about,” Harry settles on saying. He can’t stop himself from staring. He has somehow forgotten how handsome Sirius is. His silky black hair, aristocratic nose, and high cheekbones. It’s like looking at a sculpture.

Sirius scoffs.

“Yeah, I bet,” he says.

“How have you been?” Harry asks.

Sirius pulls a hand through his hair, a tick, showing his distress. He shrugs, scrapes his foot against the floor, scratches his nose and looks anywhere but at Harry.

“Fine,” he settles on, after half an eternity. “What are you doing here?”

Harry bites his lip, not really knowing what to say despite having rehearsed what he wants to tell Sirius and the others (but mostly Sirius. Shut up brain!) every night instead of sleeping.

“Just here to get my stuff,” he says instead of the myriad of explanations and excuses he practiced, and then considers just banging his head against the wall.

“Oh, er…” Sirius says, sounding uncomfortable in a different way. “We er, we sort of threw them out when you didn’t come back.”

“What?”

“Yeah, er. We reckoned you might be back for them but then you didn’t come and so we thought ‘well, if he doesn’t need them…’” Sirius says, gesturing vaguely towards the window.

Harry briefly mourns a set of dress-robes he will never get to wear, but shakes it off. He can barely tell the difference from his normal robes and he doubts anyone will look closely enough to notice, or care. Maybe Hermione.

Sirius looks distressed now.

“You didn’t have anything important here… right?”

“Ah, no,” says Harry hurriedly. “Nothing important.”

“I think one of your quills might still be around,” Sirius says and scrambles to look through his nightstand. Harry wonders if he saved it for him, something squirming in his gut at the thought. “Although I think it will only write swear words now,” Sirius says, making a triumphant sound when he finds it. 

He hands it over to Harry with a flourish. Harry takes it without thought but can’t stop his surprise from showing when he finds the lemon-yellow quill emitting an irritated huff, smacking his fingers with the vane. 

“It’s a little grouchy ever since James charmed it,” Sirius says by way of apology.

“It’s all right,” Harry says. “Thanks for keeping it for me.”

“Whatever,” Sirius says, scratching the back of his head, still looking away. The silence between them isn’t as uncomfortable as it could be, but Harry still wishes he could scramble up the guts to say something. Sirius makes it easy for him. “You’re not really an Auror, are you?” he asks, and looks up at Harry for just a fraction of a second.

“Oh,” says Harry, surprised. “No, I am,” he says, wondering if it’s true now that he isn’t technically on any records at the ministry. “It’s just not _all_ I am.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you. Not yet at least.” Harry looks at him, apologetic. 

Sirius lets out a mirthless huff.

“Yeah, not yet. Whatever. It was nice seeing you, Harry.” Then he goes back to trying to stuff his bed into his trunk. 

Harry doesn’t know what to do with that. He watches for a moment, struggling to come up with the words that would make all this okay between them again, but nothing comes to mind. 

“I’ll see you later,” Harry says.

Sirius doesn’t answer, so Harry takes his swearing quill and leaves.

Hermione meets him down in the common room. She sees his downtrodden expression and refrains from saying anything, for which Harry is grateful.

“You’re going to change?” she asks when she notices his robes. 

Harry shrugs. This is as good as it’ll get. Hermione looks nice, though. Her dress-robes are cut more delicately than their standard work-robes. He can glimpse a little bit of her older self in the way she carries herself.

“You look nice,” he tells her honestly and enjoys her happy smile in return.

“Thank you. Want to head downstairs?”

Harry doesn’t really, but he nods anyway.

The feast is as brilliant as promised. Dumbledore holds a beautiful speech about hope and unity. Harry is silently impressed how Dumbledore keeps on holding these inspiring speeches and never falls into the trap of repeating himself. Harry, nevertheless, doesn't feel very motivated.

He carefully keeps to the corners, desperately avoiding the Marauders and they seem to be applying the same method. There are cheers and toasts, but Harry doesn’t really take any of it in.

When it’s over and everyone has eaten until they can’t anymore, they gather out on the grounds, not very far from where Dumbledore’s funeral would have been held some twenty years into the future. Hopefully it won’t, this time around, not for many more years. 

McGonagall calls their names to hand them each a scroll, containing their degree. She shakes each of their hands and wishes them good luck. Harry calls out a loud cheer when Hermione receives her degree, smiling broadly and clapping when she shoots him a look and blushes.

When it’s Harry’s turn, he tries to smile at McGonagall, feeling a gratitude he has never once been able to verbalise to her. She is already looking down on her parchment, ready to read out the next name. Harry tries to quell the jab of _something_ in his stomach. He grips his lemon-yellow quill stuffed down his robes, and goes back to his place to cheer for his classmates.

The boats take them back across the Black Lake the same way they arrived at Hogwarts the first time. This time they sit only two in each boat. Harry very viscerally misses Ron in this moment. Hermione takes his hand; he thinks she’s feeling the same. Of course, for her, it’s the second time but she seems to be feeling just as emotional as Harry. 

Wistfully, he thinks they should have got this. Their year group, together, they should have got to listen to Dumbledore’s speech without having to contemplate the darker undertones, receive their diplomas from their smiling Head of House, and cheer joyfully for their bright futures. He, Ron and Hermione. They deserved to have that.

Maybe another version of them will get it. He clings on to that thought as he looks behind him to see Hogwarts disappear behind a bend.

In one of the other boats, Harry spots James and Lily, Remus and Sirius, and Peter and a Ravenclaw Harry doesn’t know the name of.

It’s an odd way to end things, he thinks. He came to see Hermione’s graduation her first time of course, but he has never been through this himself. His graduation in the Auror program was more of a formality with little fanfare, after which he and Ron celebrated by getting drunk. This should probably be a grander moment, but he can’t help but think his life has been full of so-called grand moments and none of them have ever really lived up to their name.

He glances over to his parents again. They’re hugging and crying openly. Harry wonders if something happened, hopes it is nothing bad. Peter and Remus are cheering; Sirius is blowing a party whistle which is obnoxiously penetrating, echoing across the lake. They’re all celebrating in their own way. Harry tries not to feel bitter about how things have ended between them.

He and Hermione take their own compartment on the Hogwarts Express. It takes Harry an hour of gloomily staring out the window and wishing things were different before he remembers they have nowhere to go once they arrive in London.

“Hermione,” he says with a trail of hysteria. “We don’t have anywhere to live!”

She smiles at him before she rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

“I was wondering when you’d realize,” she says as Harry gapes at her. “I’ve sorted it out, haven’t I? Don’t worry.”

“If we’re living in a tent again-” he begins, but Hermione waves him away.

“We’re not on the run this time so no need for that. I’ve rented us a small flat close to the Leaky Cauldron.”

“Hermione, have I ever said you’re amazing?”

“It bears repeating,” she says, smirking.

“You’re amazing,” he says and grins at her.

“I know,” she says. 

Then she laughs and a second later, he joins in. And soon they’re laughing wholeheartedly at nothing and they can’t stop. They laugh until their stomachs are cramping and tears are running down their faces. Harry feels the tension he has been carrying around wash away. It becomes easier to just be in the here and now.

Eventually they stop. Eventually reality comes back, but it’s not as bleak as it was a few moments ago. It’s sunny outside, they have a home to go to, they have a plan in place. Things will be all right. Somehow.

“We’ll get them back,” Hermione says into the quiet which is left behind once their laughter has died out. “We’ll tell them everything eventually, and then we’ll get them back.”

Harry doesn’t let himself inspect the feeling of hope in his chest, and nods.

“Yeah, we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this, dear friends, mark the end of Arc I. I'm writing Arc II, don't worry, and I intend to keep posting every week, although I might switch to Saturdays from now on. I'll see. Arc II will be much shorter but I felt I had to mark this place where they leave Hogwarts *somehow* and an Arc seems fitting.  
> I hope you've enjoyed and I Looked Back on a Broken World so far and intend to stick around for the sticky ending so to speak *grins.


	30. Summar of '78

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I'm completetly out of the times. I think I posted the Christmas chapter in July and now summer in December. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this piece of almost entirely fluff. Like... three quaters fluff. I'm actually really excited to start posting these chapters. I haven'y read many fanfic which go from Hogwarts to post-Hogwarts in the same story and I enjoy having them grow up a bit, at the same time as they're still just kids :D (i mean, who in their right mind would call a 17 y/o an adult??)

_“You said you didn’t want to get engaged while in school,” James says in a low voice._

_Lily turns to him, not sure what to expect. She doesn’t know if she is surprised, but some part of her almost expected this. A very small part. The rest of her is flying above the skies, screaming and crying from joy._

_James has done his best going down on a knee in the boat, trying to keep from wobbling it too much. In his clasped hands he’s holding a small ring with an intricate loop of bands coming together in beautiful braids._

_“Will you marry me, Lily Evans, and make me the happiest man on Earth?”_

_“You know, when I said after school, I didn’t mean literal seconds,” she says, staring at the ring._

_“Can you blame me if I couldn’t wait another second?” James says, hazel eyes fixed on her with such an intensity she blushes under his gaze. “I love you. More than the sun, more than the air I breathe.”_

_“Just so long it’s not more than Quidditch, or I’ll be worried,” Lily says, trying for a weak joke._

_“More than Quidditch,” James says without missing a beat. “I can’t imagine my life without you.”_

_Lily’s heart gives a jolt and James becomes blurry. She realizes she’s crying only when James wipes away a tear from her cheek._

_“I guess I have no other choice then,” she says, smiling so wide her face is hurting. “You silly goose.”_

_James actually gasps. His face splits into an expression of such joy, Lily feels humbled knowing it’s for her. He gently takes her hand and puts the ring on her finger._

_“Other one,” she whispers._

_James blushes and quickly pulls it off again and puts it on the right finger._

_“I love you,” he says, and places a light kiss on her hand._

_“I love you, too.”_

~o~o~o~o~

“James! James!”

James can hear the call coming from outside. He sips his morning tea and exchanges an amused look with his fiancée ( _his fiancée!_ ).

“You’ll have to get him his own key,” Lily says, flipping another page in the Daily Prophet.

“Are you sure you want to give that free access to our home?” James asks, nodding towards the door where an incessant knocking has begun.

“Jamsie, I know you can hear me!” Sirius calls from outside. “Let me in!”

“Good point,” Lily says.

“Prongs, you had better open up before I tell Lily about the time in France when you-”

He doesn’t have time to finish before James pulls the door open.

“Siri, how lovely of you to drop by!” James says loudly, ignoring Lily’s raised eyebrow. “Care for some tea?”

Sirius grins at him. James is _pretty_ sure Sirius wouldn’t really reveal one of his darkest moments to his fiancée ( _his fiancée!_ ) before they had even finished morning tea. But he’s not sure, and he’s not taking any chances.

“Never mind that!” Sirius says, shoving his way inside.

James follows him back into the kitchen, noting the letter Sirius is gripping in one of his hands, waving it around.

“What brought you here so early?”

“Hello, Lily,” Sirius says before turning back to James. “It’s only early in this house. The rest of us have been up with the sun, you sloth!”

James is sure this isn’t true. Sirius hasn’t been up with the sun since he sprouted pubes. He doesn’t bother questioning this, though. He’s not sure Sirius’ nervous energy can get any more intense and doesn’t want to test it.

“Of course,” he says instead, exchanging a smile with Lily. “My apologies.”

“Have you got your mail yet?” Sirius asks, looking out the kitchen window as if looking to spot any wayward owls.

“Oh, yes, they should be on the counter,” James says, pointing. As a general rule, they don’t read their mail until after breakfast. Less risk for heart-attacks, or so his father taught him at an early age.

“Haven’t you opened it yet?!” Sirius asks, voice pitched higher than is really natural for him.

“Not yet, no,” James answers, despite Sirius very well knowing this from having lived with the Potters for two years.

“Well, do it now!”

James and Lily share a look and decide they can bend the rule, just this once. Sirius rifles through the pile with no hint of shame or sense of property. Lily giggles behind her newspaper. James takes the letter Sirius hands him without comment and opens it as slowly as possible.

“Hm, what could this be?” he mutters under his breath, much reminiscent of his dad. Sirius breathes heavily, trying to contain his urgency, James knows. To his credit, he doesn’t say anything. Fleamont would be proud.

“Well?” Sirius asks when James has got the letter open and skimmed through it.

“It seems I got in.”

“YES!” Sirius howls and immediately starts dancing around the kitchen, cheering loudly.

James smiles, joy in his heart. They got into the Auror program.

“Congratulations,” Lily says to him, planting a small kiss on his lips. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” James breathes against her lips.

“Now take that abomination out of our house,” she says, nodding at Sirius who has climbed onto the counter and is now swinging back and forth on one of the cabinet doors, howling wildly.

“Of course, dear,” he says through a snigger.

He pulls Sirius down from his makeshift swing, ignoring his cry of pain when he lands on the floor.

“Let’s go tell the others and celebrate,” James smiles.

The pained sounds turn back into cheering.

“Now we’re talking!”

James helps him up, grabs a piece of toast since he knows Sirius probably didn’t bother with eating anything before hurrying over, and takes his best friend for a celebratory run through the countryside.

~o~o~o~o~

“It’s a great honour,” his mother tells him.

“You’ll finally be an adult,” his Cousin Bella tells him with a gleam in her eyes.

“An honourable thing, young Master Regulus is ridding the world of filth,” Kreacher croaks to him and bows.

Everywhere he turns, Regulus hears these words of encouragement. Inside his head, though, another voice is saying something different.

_“You’ll be dead within two years.”_

He thinks about Uncle Rodolphus. Even one of the Dark Lord’s most trusted servants didn’t stand in the way of an objective. Cousin Bella whispered the words to him as they watched Cousin Narcissa’s wedding to the head of the Malfoy family: _“He had to be sure I was loyal, that he can trust me with anything. Now he knows…”_

Regulus doesn’t want to be made an example. Or make an example of someone else.

_“I know what side I’m on,” Regulus says._

_“Do you?” Harry asks._

Regulus isn’t sure anymore. At the time it felt like a brilliant foil. Tell the enemy Regulus was on his side and then run straight to the Dark Lord and reveal the plots forming against him. He would be granted immediate trust, raised to the Dark Lord’s inner circle.

But he didn’t. For some reason he didn’t.

_“So they deserve to die?”_

He remembers looking over at the Granger girl, thinking she was probably one of the most talented witches of their age. He doesn't think he can kill her in cold blood for a crime she didn’t commit. For the sole reason of being born from Mudbloods.

_“He would find you weak.”_

Regulus knows what happens to the weak. He has seen it first-hand, been fed the words since childhood, and had the weakness beaten from him. He shouldn’t be weak. But he thinks he might be anyway. 

The pain is infinite. Regulus holds on from screaming by the skin of his teeth.

“Welcome, Regulus Arcturus Black, to one of us,” the Dark Lord says to him in a silky tone. A cold hand strokes his cheek.

Regulus refrains from gagging. He’s covered in a cold sweat.

“Thank you, my lord,” he says. 

The Dark Lord moves on.

Regulus looks down on the black serpentine tattoo on his forearm. It burns.

~o~o~o~o~

Remus doesn’t open the letter. He feeds the owl some seeds when it appears to have been ordered to stay until he can give it a reply. It hoots reproachfully at him when he continues to ignore the letter. 

He recognizes the handwriting of course, and he knows she’s trying to get in contact with him, but his blood still runs hot every time he thinks about her. He doesn’t think he can look her in the eye and trust her again. Not after everything she has lied about, everything she has kept from him, from all of them. A letter, several weeks later, can’t make up for the betrayal he feels. It doesn’t even come close.

The owl stays.

~o~o~o~o~

“What do you want, Sev?” Lily asks, arms crossed and looking over his shoulder.

“Please, if you’d just listen-”

“To more of your Death Eater drivel? I think I’ve heard enough.”

“They’re not wrong, though. The magic-”

“So you really believe people like me should be killed indiscriminately? ‘Cause that’s what they want. You know what their aim is!”

“Not you, though. I’ve spoken to the Dark Lord and he’s-”

“Oh, you’ve spoken to him, have you? Well good riddance, what luck to have such an upstanding guy as a friend! And he’s what? Promised you he’ll let me live? Guess what, Sev, that’s not the point!”

“He’ll be coming after you. If you join, I can protect you-”

“Do you even hear what you’re saying? Don’t you find it even remotely paradoxical that I’ll be protected by the one who’s looking to kill me? No thank you, Severus. Don’t ever come back here.”

“But-”’

“Leave!”

~o~o~o~o~

“Just listen,” Sirius says, planting himself on the couch and leaning over towards James.

“I have listened, Pads, and I’m telling you, you’re seeing things that aren’t there!”

“You’re the one who said he had your cloak!”

“Hm, yeah, that was weird,” James says, unhelpfully. He doesn’t appear to be paying attention. He’s facing towards the staircase, no doubt listening to some movement or other from Lily. His fingers are fiddling with his engagement ring.

Sirius tries very hard to restrain himself and not throttle him.

“And how they appeared in the dormitory. I know they _said_ they were Aurors there on Dumbledore’s orders, but none of the teachers were even aware they were coming!”

“Uh-huh, odd,” James says without any inflection.

“And why did they disappear so many times? What were they doing in the room that even the map couldn’t see? It’s suspicious!”

“Suspicious,” James repeats.

“You’re hopeless!” Sirius yells finally, throwing his arms into the air and uttering a noise of disgust.

“Listen, Pads,” James says, momentarily joining the now again and turning to Sirius. “I think you’re overthinking it. Harry and Hermione explained what they were doing and their mission. You don’t have to go looking for more trouble than there is.”

“You just don’t want to see what’s right in front of you.”

“Rather I’m already occupied with what’s in front of me. Maybe you should be, too. How’s your assignment for Edwards going?”

Sirius shrugs, looking away. He would rather not speak about his half-hearted attempt at producing a profile for persons likely to commit crimes related to moving of illegal magical objects.

“I just think you’re being wilfully ignorant.”

“I think you’re being overly suspicious.”

“Shouldn’t I be, though? Have you read the news lately?”

James’ smile vanishes in a second and his lips thin.

“I have.”

“Then you have to admit-”

“I also know we have to trust our own people. Dumbledore trusts them. Therefore, I do, too.”

Sirius has no good response to this. He slumps back on the couch. Up in the ceiling someone has charmed the entire night sky to twinkle merrily down on the occupants in the room. Probably Lily. Always brilliant with charms.

“How’s things?” he asks in an attempt to mend the tense atmosphere.

James, graciously, takes the olive branch for what it is.

“Lily is studying like crazy for her entry tests in the Healing Apprenticeship Program and I’m swamped in the assignments from Edwards, as you should be well aware. The wedding-planning has sort of taken a back-seat to life,” James admits with a wry grin.

“That is outrageous! You can’t let it drag out! What if she realizes what a knob you are and backs out?!” Sirius yells, jumping up.

James looks at him with wide eyes.

“Do you think she will?!”

“I don’t know!” Sirius yells.

James jumps up, too, eyes going wild. He grips his hair while staring at Sirius.

“I have to call my mum, tell her to gear up. And dad, he would never forgive me if I left him out of the flower theme! Maybe they should come live with us for a while, I’m sure Lily wouldn’t mind. I’m sure I can get hold of Lily’s family. You’ve worked a tefelone before, right?”

The hysteria is rising with every word as James understands the magnitude of getting the wedding-planning going again, the pure logistics of it. He pulls desperately at his hair, messing it up even further than its standard, which is quite an accomplishment.

“We can ask Moony; he’s used one before. Although I think you need eketricily in the house. Maybe you can install some, or maybe the Muggle Owlery has some?”

“Good idea! Can you get Moony here while I check with mum and dad?”

“Definitely! D’you think he knows any good extension charms for the guestroom?”

“Oh, you had better ask him, hold on- _Expecto Patronum_!”

Suddenly a raucous from the stairs make them both pause as Lily comes thundering down. She takes in James with his wild hair and crooked glasses, his Patronus curiously sniffing the fireplace, and Sirius halfway through their chest in search of Floo-powder, wand tucked backwards behind his ear.

“What in all that is magical is going on?” she asks.

“Nothing!” they answer together at once, old habits coming into play.

James recovers first.

“I mean, Lily, dearest. I thought it was probably a good idea to get going with the wedding-planning.”

“This instant?”

“...yes?”

“After we decided, yesterday, that we were going to focus on our careers for now?”

“Er….”

“Why wait?” Sirius tries to help but James glares at him and Lily raises her eyebrows, so he backs down and discreetly shuts the chest and tries to melt into a nearby wall.

“What’s this about?”

“Nothing,” James says, and Sirius has no idea what happened to his poker face, but even the most gullible house-elf would see through that lie.

“James,” Lily begins but James crumbles immediately.

“I-thought-if-we-didn’t-get-married-at-once-you-might-realize-what-a-knob-I-am-and-think-better-about-it.”

It takes a few moments for Lily to discern what the jumble of words actually means, but when she does, her confusion turns to ire and she pierces Sirius with a look.

“And where,” she says, still looking at Sirius, “might you get such an idea, hm?”

“No idea,” Sirius replies because he feels quite like a bug spiked on a collector’s board and would like to get out of the scrutiny as quickly as possible. “I told him you would have realized by now if you didn’t want to marry him and he had nothing to worry about.”

James looks at him betrayed. Sirius shrugs apologetically.

“Despite your friend lying through his teeth about saying that, he’s correct,” Lily says, looking back at James. “I know who you are, and I love you. I intend to marry you, whether it’s today or five years from today. I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Oh,” James says, shoulders relaxing. “Well, that’s…”, he clears his throat, “good.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Lily asks, a smile slowly crawling back onto her face. “Now ask Pads to join us for dinner before he starves himself to death and then help him with his assignment.”

“Oh, er, yes, good idea. Hey Pads, you’re staying for dinner, right?”

Sirius nods.

“Excellent,” Lily says, clapping her hands together. “Now please shut up for another hour while I finish up this chapter. No more big decisions about me when I’m not here to weigh in.”

She jogs back up the stairs, humming quietly under her breath.

“Isn’t she marvellous?” James says, and Sirius is pretty sure he can actually _see_ the heart-eyes.

“Magnificent,” Sirius says drolly, but he actually sort of gets it now. Why James is up over his ears in love with the girl, and why they’ll make it, even through tough times.


	31. Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a crapton of things are set in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guys believe I actually thought part was going to be short and straight to the point? Well, now it's getting more convoluted than ever and I'm not even sure what I'm doing anymore. I suppose I've only got myself to blame for adding things which seemed *fun*. We're getting precariously close to the point of pre-written chapters. Luckily it's almost holidays soon and I hope I'll find the motivation to keep writing. It doesn't feel good to be this close between writing and posting..!
> 
> I'd like to thank you all for reading and commenting! You are my light!

> _Dear Albus,_
> 
> _I regret to inform you that I would like to tender my resignation as your Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher effective from the last of August. I hereby give one month notice of my intention to leave Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._
> 
> _I made this decision, not because I’m unhappy with the opportunities you’ve presented, but as I see a great need for my presence with my family in these times. It’s been a great pleasure working with you and I will treasure everything I’ve learnt as your employee. I wish you and everyone at Hogwarts the best of luck._
> 
> _Yours sincerely,_
> 
> _Hattie Palmer_

~o~o~o~o~

James dismisses Sirius’ concerns without problem. It is easy when he has a beautiful fiancée who smiles at him, who carries his ring, who tells him she loves him. And means it!

It’s harder when the _Daily Prophet_ comes with news of disappearances. Of murders. Of investigations. It’s harder when they stop reporting all together.

At work, Edwards is tight-lipped about everything that’s going on, but trains them relentlessly and keeps a hard look on each and every one of them. They should be glad Moody isn’t their handler, Edwards says to them sometimes when one of the trainees utters some of their misery. 

James hasn’t met Auror Moody, only seen him from a distance, but he doesn’t need to have met him to have heard of him. He has quite the reputation. He’s a straight to business, no fooling around, kind of guy. Even from afar, he has a certain aura. James _is_ glad he doesn’t have Moody for a handler, but he also regrets not getting to work with someone who’s so obviously very good at what he does.

“Your time will come,” Lily assures him when he tells her this. “You’re top of your class, there’s no way they won’t pick you for the elite troupe.”

James has always known he is good, but somehow, when Lily says it, he believes it in a new kind of way. A small fire in his chest ignites and he vows, for the thousandth time, to never disappoint her.

“I love you,” he says and kisses her nose. 

She smiles at him, her green eyes sparkling in joy.

“You only say that because I’m telling you how good you are.”

James sees her dimples dig into her cheeks as she teases him. He shakes his head, unable to contain his own smile. He seems unable to stop smiling these days.

“Well, if it’s you saying it, it must be true.”

“The size of your head really doesn’t need any more inflating,” she says through giggles. “I don’t know what I’ve done.”

“No take-backsies,” he says, pushing her down into the couch. She shrieks in delight and then he kisses her. She continues to giggle into his mouth and her laughter tastes like the freshest of summer peaches.

~o~o~o~o~

Camhanaich Hill regards the Headmaster as he climbs the ladder up to the classroom. Despite being old, he’s surprisingly nimble on his feet as he steps off and rights his robes.

“Ah, Camhanaich,” Albus says as he spots Camhanaich in the dark corner of the room. “I hoped I might find you here.”

“Yes,” Camhanaich agrees. “I saw,” he says, gesturing to the crystal ball he has been gazing for the last couple of...days.

“Naturally,” Albus agrees, carefully hiding whatever he might be thinking about it. “May I join you?”

Camhanaich nods and waves his wand at the pile of neatly stacked cushiony pillows, bringing one forth for Albus to sit down in, which he does, with a small grimace.

Camhanaich says nothing as Albus looks around, taking in the drawn curtains, the cold fireplace and the furniture covered by thin light sheets. He regards Albus, waiting. He knows what’s coming, of course, but he wants the Headmaster to say it.

“I dare say you know why I’ve come,” Albus says finally, eyes lingering on Camhanaich’ trunk, packed with every single thing of his belongings. Camhanaich, again, says nothing. “I’ve just been handed Hattie’s letter of resignation and I find myself once more in search of a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for the next school year.”

Camhanaich casts a glance at the crystal ball, but everything he can find in its misty depths are the same as before.

“Indeed,” Camhanaich says.

“Yes, indeed,” Albus says, twiddling with his wand. “I was hoping…” Albus continues, searching Camhanaich’ eyes with his penetrating gaze, “that you would consider taking on the position.”

Camhanaich lets him sweat for a bit. It’s only fair. This will be his last year in Hogwarts’ employ and it is Albus forcing it so. Not a single professor remains at the school after accepting the Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching position, which Albus, naturally, is well aware of.

Camhanaich doesn’t bother protesting. He knows he won’t win an argument with Albus. He has, after all, already seen the result of this discussion in the crystal ball. Yet he feels an odd reluctance to give up without say. This is his home; has been for years.

But Albus is asking him, and if it weren’t for Albus, Camhanaich would not be alive today. So, he gets up, picking the crystal ball off its stand and gently placing it in its container, a box-shaped case with comprehensive protective charms (no one wants to be near an exploding crystal ball), and picks it up. His trunk follows his steps with a wave of his wand as he makes his way to the trap door.

“All you had to do was ask,” Camhanaich says over his shoulder to Albus who is watching him with a sad smile.

~o~o~o~o~

Professor Dumbledore visits them one evening in early August. James prepares a dinner from a recipe his mum showed him the first time he cooked for Lily. She smiles when she sees him chopping up the veggies.

“Nervous?” she asks, putting a head on his shoulder while hugging him from behind.

He scoffs, “No, of course not! No reason to be nervous. Just the most powerful and influential wizard of our age casually coming by for dinner to have a small chat. What reason would I have to be nervous? Don’t be ridiculous.”

He can practically hear Lily’s smile.

“Well, my apologies for suggesting such a preposterous thing,” she says and kisses his neck. His hands stop trembling. “I’ll set the table,” she continues.

He’s silently grateful for her presence as she waves her wand and the cutlery set themselves out on the table.

When their former Headmaster knocks on their door at precisely seven o’clock, Lily opens the door. James can hear them talking from the kitchen as she welcomes Dumbledore inside. Lily thanks him for some gift, probably flowers going by her comments of ‘how lovely’ they are.

“Oh, it’s quite a wonderful home you’ve made for yourselves,” Dumbledore says, sounding delighted when Lily apparently shows him their pumpkin farm in their backyard. He oohs and aahs appreciatively in all the right places and seems especially charmed with their collection of miniature cauldrons. James can practically taste Lily’s smugness.

When they come to the kitchen, James is just turning off the stove and sending the stew to the table.

“Welcome, Professor,” he says and smiles in a way he hopes portrays his (absolutely non-existent) calm.

“I’m not your professor anymore, James. Please, call me Albus.”

James quietly thinks he might explode if he ever dares call Dumbledore by his first name.

“Of course,” he says lightly. “Care for some beef stew?”

“You shouldn’t have gone to all the trouble,” Dumbledore says, eyeing the stew with appreciation.

“Pish-posh,” James says and then wonders where _that_ came from. Lily gives him an odd look and he blushes. “Please have a seat, sir.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

They get through the stew on pleasantries alone. Dumbledore is an excellent conversationalist and James manages to relax incrementally as he tells his old Headmaster of his training in the Auror program and Lily about her time in the Healer program.

“You’ve done well for yourselves,” Dumbledore says, sounding proud. “I always knew you would, being some of Hogwarts’ finest students.

Lily blushes up a storm and James stares at a lone carrot on his plate. He doesn’t like carrots. He still never takes it out of the recipe even though he doesn’t know why.

“You flatter us,” Lily squeezes out at last. James is grateful he doesn’t have to answer. “Would you like something to drink after supper? Tea? Butterbeer? Sherry?”

“Oh, I’ll take some sherry if you have it,” Dumbledore responds politely.

James is glad he went for the alcoholic choice because he doesn’t know how to get through the night without it. Lily seems to feel the same way, because she serves them all a rather tall glass of their finest sherry in the sitting room. He eyes the extravagant bouquet Lily has put on the coffee table. They really are lovely.

“Now,” begins Dumbledore, and both Lily and James snap to attention. There’s no denying the change in tone. “I didn’t impose on your hospitality for the sole purpose of seeing you squirm in the presence of your old professor.”

James blushes, unable to meet his eyes. Of course he noticed.

“Sir?” Lily asks, and, once again, James is grateful to her for her good manners.

“I don’t believe you’ve missed the state of things in the wizarding world,” Dumbledore says, and the mood darkens immediately. “People are disappearing, dark forces are gathering and infiltrating offices as we speak.”

“It’s He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, isn’t it?” James asks. His hands feel cold and he takes another sip of his sherry.

“It is,” Dumbledore agrees. “Voldemort is taking over. Quietly, cleverly. People are being silenced.”

“The Prophet…” Lily mumbles.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore says. “They took away our freedom of speech this week. Very soon there won’t be anyone speaking up anymore.”

“We have to do something!” James says.

Dumbledore looks sombrely at him and James flushes and raises his glass to his lips for something to do. His skin feels hot. Lily takes his hand and leans forward.

“Jamie’s right. We have to do something. If no one else is standing up against this- this _evil_ , then we must do it.”

“I agree,” Dumbledore says. 

James looks up at him. Dumbledore has his hands folded in his lap and he looks immoderately pleased with them.

“Sir?”

“I have been speaking to a few people, people who are, like you and myself, of the same mind.”

“Like a resistance?” Lily asks, squeezing James’ hand. He squeezes back.

“Yes, like a resistance. It’s a covert thing. No one can know. In the same way Voldemort is working in secrecy, so must we. To protect ourselves.”

“A few people…” James mumbles.

“People I trust, people I’ve observed,” Dumbledore explains. “It’s a delicate thing. One wrong person hears the wrong thing, and the game is up.”

“It’s an honour,” Lily says, and James nods.

“Not at all,” Dumbledore responds. “The honour is mine.”

They sit in silence, contemplating everything for a moment. Then James looks up.

“What now, sir?”

“Now,” Dumbledore says, “I talk to a few more and then I call for you all and we talk strategies.”

“How will we communicate?”

“I’ll send my Patronus,” Dumbledore says.

~o~o~o~o~

Harry sits tapping his wand against his knee. Time seems to be ticking by endlessly slow. Hermione has several times threatened to take his wand away from him, but he doubts she’ll make reality of her warning.

When there’s a knock on the door, both he and Hermione look up at once. Harry’s at the door before he has time to think.

“Password!” Hermione hisses before Harry has time to lurch the door open.

“Password?” Harry dutifully asks through the door.

“Snargaluff pods,” a voice from the other side answers.

Harry pulls the door open and is greeted by a smiling Albus Dumbledore.

“Ah, Harry, Hermione, it’s good to see you,” Dumbledore says.

“Yes, you as well,” Harry says, catching his manners at the last second. Then he very obediently offers some tea and a few pleasantries. Dumbledore accepts, all with that infuriating twinkle in his eyes.

“Well?” he asks when, finally, the tea has been drunk and Dumbledore has commented on every single item of their, granted, very sparsely decorated flat.

“I have spoken to everybody I can think of that fits your criteria including the people you mentioned. I think we’re ready to have a meeting.”

Harry reacts to this statement by twitching.

“My criteria? Were you not already planning on gathering this group of people?”

“I had entertained the thought, yes, but it was your adamant conviction of the necessity of it that made it urgent. I had rather thought that with the work that the three of us have been doing, it might not have been necessary.”

“There’s still a huge following,” Harry argues. “The Ministry is full of corruption, if not straight-out Death Eaters.”

“So it is,” Dumbledore agrees easily.

“They won’t just disappear even if Tom dies.”

“You’re absolutely correct. But I might have gone about it a bit differently had you not convinced me differently.”

Harry’s mind is slightly boggled at this. What would have become of the world if there was no Order?

“Oh,” he says, lamely.

Hermione gently fills his cup with more tea. When he sips it, he realizes they’ve forgotten to take out the tea and the bitter liquid leaves a bad taste. He swallows valiantly.

“When will we gather?” Hermione asks for him when he doesn’t speak again.

“Soon. But the question is rather _where_ we will gather. It needs to be a location which is completely protected, not too remote and not conspicuous enough to garner suspicion.”

Harry opens his mouth, and closes it again. Of course, Grimmauld Place is out of the question. Mrs Black isn’t even dead yet and the house very much still belongs to her. Hogwarts is too far away for all the (future) members not working at Hogwarts which, granted, are quite a few. His mind goes wistfully to the Weasleys for the briefest of moments before he squashes the idea. 

“Could we be in Godric’s Hollow?” Hermione suggests. 

Harry looks at her in surprise.

“It’s frequented enough by both Muggle and Wizarding community that there will be communications in abundance. No one will raise the eyebrow at a few people dressed queerly and it’s a big enough neighbourhood that the activity won’t be suspicious.”

“Well thought out and reasoned argument,” Dumbledore commends her. “Did you have a particular location in mind?”

Harry finds his heart beating faster than normal in anticipation of her answer.

“How close are you with Bathilda Bagshot?” Hermione asks, and slowly a sparkling smile lights up Dumbledore’s face.

“Quite well, quite well,” he says and claps his hands together. “Very well, I shall speak to Bathilda and get back to you as soon as possible.”

“Great,” Hermione says, smiling too.

“Great,” Harry says, a bit more quietly.

~o~o~o~o~

“Ms Trelawney,” Albus says smiling politely, and takes the witch’s hand, shaking it gently. The jewellery around her wrists jingle. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Professor Dumbledore,” Trelawney says. She has thick glasses making her eyes seem very large and she’s looking intensely at a spot slightly to the left of Albus’ face. “It’s true what they say,” she murmurs, low enough for Albus to pretend he hasn’t heard.

“Shall we sit?” he offers, gesturing to the small table by the window. He rented the room from Aberforth free of charge, although the sour look which was sent his way as he was handed the key might have spoken of resentment buried shallowly. Albus wouldn’t have chosen the Hog’s Head for this particular reason, but Sybill Trelawney suggested it and, since this whole thing is more of a polite gesture anyway, he agreed.

When Trelawney doesn’t answer immediately, he turns around. He finds her staring at the threshold with a look of trepidation. Just as he’s about to approach her, to ask her what’s wrong or offer help, he’s not sure yet, she looks up, eyes wide.

“Oh,” she gasps in a quiet voice. Then she gathers her shawls around her, steps into the room and shuts the door behind her. Albus notices her hands are trembling.

“Tea?” he offers her, and she nods in appreciation. He pours her a cup and then himself. The tea is good, and he reminds himself to compliment Aberforth on the choice.

“I see a great reluctance in you,” Trelawney says abruptly and Albus looks up from his tea.

“Oh?” he inquires politely.

“Yes,” Trelawney says, holding her cup in a spidery grip with thin, frail-looking fingers. “A darkness hovering around you. Heavy, yes, but not malevolent.”

“I see,” Albus says. “What else do you see?”

He tries to stop his mind from wandering back to a time long ago, in happier times. A summer when everything was hopeful and his future bright with possibilities.

_“You’ll live to be ancient,” says a boy with brilliant bright eyes, looking far-off into the distance. “You’ll be all grey and wrinkly,” he says, and scrunches up his face to demonstrate._

_“I’m sure I look dashing.”_

_“You would say that,” the boy laughs and comes back to meet Albus’ eyes. “Well, I think you do, too.”_

“Regret,” Trelawney murmurs, and Albus jerks slightly, coming back to himself. “Heavy, full of shame and fear…”

“Thank you, that will do,” Albus says, polite but firm.

Trelawney’s eyes are wide behind her spectacles. The cut is making her look slightly skew-eyed. 

Albus sips his tea. After a moment, so does Trelawney.

“Can you tell me about your credentials?” he inquires after another prolonged moment of silence.

The interview progresses in, not a normal way, but more usual than it began. Trelawney reads his tea leaves, his palm and finally a deck of Tarot cards. They all proclaim his success and happiness.

“Thank you so much for this,” Albus begins, but Trelawney, seeming to understand he’s looking to end their interview, interrupts him, jewellery clinking madly as she pulls the deck back up.

“Wait, there’s something here!” she exclaims, jerkily pulling another card. Her hands are clammy, and she almost drops the card before putting it on the table, slightly askew from the others already presented. “Something dark, yes, something very dark is coming. Beware someone with a dark complexion seeking to destroy you!”

Albus smothers a deep sigh.

“Thank you,” he finally says, getting to his feet. “It’s been a pleasure meeting with you. I’m afraid I can’t offer you the position of Divination professor at Hogwarts, but I wish you the best of luck with all your future endeavours.”

Trelawney looks disappointed. She doesn’t get up from her chair as Albus waves at her to stay, enjoy a meal, ‘on me, of course’. 

Dumbledore picks up his traveling cloak and robes himself. He’s just at the door when he hears an odd sound from behind. Thinking Trelawney might have started to cry, or perhaps choked on something, he turns back in alarm.

“Ms Trelawney?” he asks.

Trelawney has slumped in her chair, her head tipped forward on her chest. _She didn’t really manage to fall asleep, did she,_ Albus thinks bemused. Then the sound that startled him comes again.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord is upon us, marked by Death as its Master… once victorious he has returned to darkness… risen from the dead, with power the Dark Lord knows not... by Death collected and twice returned... the three shall be one and he will rise again, stronger than before... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord is upon us..."

Stunned, Albus listens as Sybill Trelawney makes the first true prophecy since he met her. 

_Marked by Death as it’s Master_ , he thinks faintly. Surely not… But what else could it mean? Returned to darkness… but who? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I changing things? Yes, yes I am (☉౪ ⊙).  
> Do I know what I’m doing? ◑.◑ ⊙﹏⊙ Ye- look over there, a thing! *runs away ᕕ( ◎_◎)ᕗ
> 
> Also, can you help me with something? I'm looking for fics and fanart of this ship and I'm just not finding any. I know wolfstar is the major ship but come on, the HP fandom is big enough there must be content creators for sirry, too. Where're you/they at? Also, what is the ship name?? Sirry? Lightningstar? Help a fellow shipper out?


	32. Order of the Phoenix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, you guys are amazing! I asked for fics and art, and you really delivered! I've legit almost cried from all the wonderful recommendations, not to mention the invite to the discord server LightningStar. You've thrown me some real gems and I've only just begun reading them. My holiday is saved! Thank you so much!!
> 
> Happy holidays, everyone!

Remus swallows but his throat is dry, and he ends up choking a little bit on nothing. His hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides. He watches silently as another person dressed in wizard robes scuttles up the short driveway to the door and knocks the secret code that will grant them entry. They disappear inside after a short moment. 

“Just go inside,” he tells himself. “Just step out from this poor hiding-place and join. You were invited.”

“Hiya, Moony.”

Remus jumps. He whirls around, wand raised, and only blinks a second before he lowers his wand from James’ face.

“James, sorry,” he sighs and tucks away his wand. “Lily,” he adds. “How are you?”

“Well, thank you. How are you?” James responds politely.

“Also well, thank you. Are you also going to the meeting?”

“Yes, Dumbledore invited us. Nearly gave us a heart-attack, having him over for dinner.”

Remus chuckles obligingly. 

“I can imagine.”

“How are you, really, Remus?” Lily asks. “You look a bit peaky.”

Remus turns to her with his brows raised.

“I’m all right, thank you. Not a great time to be me, is all. They’re passing some new legislation…” he bites his teeth together to stop talking. He promised himself he wouldn’t talk about it.

“I saw,” Lily says, eyes sympathetic. “It’s awful and completely unjust.”

“It is what it is,” Remus says.

“It’s not right,” James says and places a warm hand on Remus’ shoulder. “You know you don’t deserve this, don’t you?”

Remus hesitates.

“It’s easy to forget what the rest of the wizarding world think of my kind when I’m surrounded by friends such as you and a Headmaster such as Dumbledore.”

“It’s how everyone should treat you,” Lily says, insistent. “You shouldn’t have to watch your step or check yourself every second.”

“It is what it is,” Remus says again.

Lily’s eyes harden.

“When all this is over, we’re going to make sure the world becomes a better place. For everyone,” she adds with emphasis.

“Thank you,” Remus says, appreciating her kindness. 

“Let’s get going, shall we?” James says. “We’re already stretching the phrase fashionably late.”

Remus looks back at the door. The small stream of people has dried up and they’re probably the only ones not already at the meeting. He swallows again and finds his throat has relaxed. Feeling bolstered by having his friends with him, he walks calmly towards the door.

~o~o~o~o~

Harry checks the crowd for the hundredth time but still can’t find the ones he’s looking for. The door also remains stubbornly closed and quiet.

“Don’t worry,” Hermione says to him, reassuringly. “They’ll be here. Dumbledore said they sounded very positive to the idea, and we know they joined the first time.”

Harry only grunts in response. He has no more platitudes to offer. He’s on pins and needles. Dumbledore is mingling with the guests. Harry spent the first half hour drinking in the sight of so many faces long since passed away, people he only knew from photographs and stories. As time progresses, though, he finds he is more eager to see a specific group of people than he is to get to know people he doesn’t actually know.

Dumbledore is walking towards the dining room, temporarily transfigured to allow for quadruple the number of people and furnished with a huge table and as many chairs as there are people.

“Like the Round Table,” Hermione said when she saw it.

The guests notice and trickle in after him, getting into seats in no specific order. Harry is feeling a small jolt of panic race through him as he considers the possibility that they might not come.

Just then, the knocker sounds for the last time of the night. Harry watches as Bathilda Bagshot, a lovely old lady with no intent to kill him whatsoever, walks over to the door and opens it up. Through the opening, Harry can just make out Remus, James, and Lily. His heart settles. They came.

Hermione makes a small noise beside him and he turns to look. She’s staring, riveted at the new arrivals. Something dawns on him.

“Has he still not answered any of your letters?” he asks.

Mutely, Hermione shakes her head. Harry feels his jaw tick. How stubborn can the man get?

Together they watch as the trio come inside and take in the gathering. Bagshot is probably explaining how they’re just about to start, but Harry is too far away to hear the words.

He drinks in the sight of his mum and dad, holding hands. He can just make out the small gleaming rings on their fingers and his heart constricts. They’ve got engaged! Joy and sorrow engulf him. Joy because his parents whom he hasn’t seen for months, are together and happy and in front of him. Sorrow, because he missed one of the most momentous moments in their lives.

He can pinpoint the second they notice him and Hermione. James’ eyebrows shoot up and he quietly murmurs something to the other two. Lily’s gaze snaps to him and their eyes lock. Harry holds his breath. He stares at her and wonders what she’ll do. Then she smiles. Her face transforms into a beatific expression, and something inside Harry unclenches for the first time in months. He smiles back.

~o~o~o~o~

Dumbledore begins the meeting. Not for the first time, Lily is awed by the man’s ability to capture the attention of everyone in a room. He tells them the truth about what’s been happening, about what _is_ happening. The truth, which they have been deprived of since the newspapers were silenced, since the ministry was taken. She is not the only one who cries when he lists the people already dead, when he counts the number of disappearances and deaths in the past few weeks alone. 

James squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back. She doesn’t know what she would do if she lost him.

And that is the risk. Dumbledore doesn’t mince words. He doesn’t try to hide the danger of opposing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He tells them they might be hunted, tortured, and killed. They might be betrayed, sold out and sentenced. Kidnapped in the dark of the night or publicly shunned. The Dark Lord works both in shadows and in the open now.

“I ask each and every one of you to search your heart. This is not an easy thing I ask of you. It is not an easy choice. It is, in fact, the hardest, most important, and most dangerous thing you'll ever have to do. And you must do it every day, every minute of every hour. Choose and choose again, to do what is right and not what is easy.”

There is a murmur in the crowd as they turn to their loved ones. As they ask each other and themselves what this means.

Lily looks at James and sees his mouth set in a grim line. When he notices her looking, he meets her gaze. His eyes are wet, but he looks determined. She nods at him. He nods back. They’re in this together, there’s no other way. There’s no question of whether they’ll join. There’s only the next step.

As every single person in the room remains seated, Dumbledore smiles. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “You humble me.”

After that, the meeting gets a new sort of energy. Dumbledore outlines plans and strategies. People jump in and offer their own solutions, offer help and resources they didn’t have without them. 

Alastor Moody grunts out he has eyes within the Ministry and promises to look out for future recruits and potential threats. Half the room jumps in their seats when he suddenly yells ‘CONSTANT VIGILANCE!’

Edgar Bones promises to make sure some of the sketchier new legislations would lose their way before coming before the Wizengamot.

Rubeus Hagrid tells them about a herd of thestrals he has been breeding in the Forbidden Forest, along with quite a few hippogriffs should they be needed.

“But all of this means nothing if we can’t take down the big bad,” Alice Longbottom says when the offers of assistance begin to dwindle.

The atmosphere changes in the room. Some appear unsettled by this. It is, of course, one thing to work in secrecy to protect their loved ones, and another thing entirely to openly declare war on the enemy. Everyone turns to look at Dumbledore who, to his credit, doesn’t even appear ruffled.

“You make a great point, Alice,” he says. “And you’re absolutely right. We have in fact been working on this very thing for quite a while already.”

A mumbling breaks out in the room as everyone turns to discuss this with their neighbours. Lily also wonders what this means but she keeps looking at Dumbledore.

“Who’s this ‘we’ you’re talking about then?” someone yells from the other side of the table.

Dumbledore doesn’t answer but instead looks at someone at the table. Lily, along with everyone else, turns around to see who, and more than a few people gasp as they see Harry and Hermione. Lily can feel the shock written on her face.

“Harry?” James asks, voice incredulous.

Harry, who appears to be struggling to get a grimace under control, clears his throat.

“Well, yeah…” Harry says, most unhelpfully.

“Mr Harry Jameson and Ms Hermione Granger came to me about a year ago, laying out the most astounding tale I had ever heard,” Dumbledore goes on when it becomes apparent they won’t be saying anything more.

“What tale?” Moody asks at once. “Who’re these youngsters? I don’t recognize them.”

“Indeed, they’re quite spectacular at keeping secrets,” Dumbledore chuckles, “but trust me, they are well worth their grain.”

“That’s an awful lot of trust to put into two youngsters no one’s ever even heard of.”

“They’ve been in our class for the past year,” James cuts in and blushes scarlet when everyone turns to regard him.

“So, they’re even younger than I guessed. It’s not giving them any more credit in my eyes,” Moody growls. “It’s not providing me with a lot of faith when you’re recruiting school-children, Albus.”

“Graduated,” Lily says coolly, ignoring the looks shot her way. “Not school-children anymore.”

“Regardless,” Moody says, but is cut off.

“Quite the opposite, Alastor,” Dumbledore says. “This war affects every single witch and wizard in the country, and I believe that all of them should be given the choice to stand with the resistance should they want to.”

“They’re untrained, untested and truthfully little more than a liability.”

James shrinks in his chair. Lily realizes they’re probably colleagues and winces in sympathy.

“As you were yourself, once upon a time,” Dumbledore says, calmly.

“Quite a few years ago,” Moody shoots back. Someone brave chuckles at this. They’re quickly silenced. “It’s madness, sending someone as untrained as these into the breach.”

“Madness, perhaps,” Dumbledore says. “But any madder than shutting them out and letting them be corrupted by the darkness that’s currently making its way into the heart of everyone unguarded and unaware of the danger? I don’t think so.”

“If this is your resistance, Albus, count me out.”

People regard each other worriedly as Moody stands up and shuffles between the chairs towards the exit.

Then a new murmur goes through the guests as Harry stands up.

“Moody, if you walk out that door, you’re turning your back on the only chance we’ve got at taking down Voldemort.”

A hush goes through the room when he says the name. Even Lily gasps, and she has heard Dumbledore say it more than once. Moody stops abruptly and turns to regard Harry with deep suspicion.

“You talk to your elders that way, boy?”

“I don’t think my age should matter when I’m speaking the truth. I understand it’s hard to believe someone else has got something important to say when you’ve convinced yourself you’ve seen everything there is to see. But I believe you’re cleverer than that. I’ve heard great things about you. About your abilities, your experience, and quick mind. I should hate to think it was all just talk.”

Moody makes a move to bring up his wand, and everyone tenses. Then he grunts instead. It takes Lily a second to realize it’s a chuckle.

“You’ve got a mouth on you, boy. More spine than is probably healthy, but go on then. Tell me about this plan of yours,” Moody says, his grin breaking his scarred face into an even more grotesque picture, and settles back against the wall. 

Lily turns back to look at Harry’s reaction and is surprised to see a smirk there. Well, she thinks, he always has been tougher than he looks.

“Voldemort deals in secrecy. It’s one of his most dangerous weapons. No one ever knows who to trust, who’s in the know. It feeds off of fear and creates mistrust and suspicion. I’ve seen it before. It’s dangerous.”

Everyone is holding their breath listening. Harry has a gravitas to his voice Lily hasn’t heard before. It drives home the point that he really is more than he appears. 

It also dawns on her that he has lied more than they knew. Moody didn’t recognize him, and James hasn’t ever seen him at the Ministry. This, too, has dawned on James, she realizes when she sees his wary gaze.

“It’s even more dangerous to be careless with secrets entrusted to us,” Harry goes on. He lets his gaze land on Lily and James. “Secrets in the wrong hands take lives.”

Lily wonders why he’s looking at her while he’s saying this. She frowns. She hasn’t lost anyone, and she certainly hasn’t betrayed anyone.

“Which is why I’m not telling you everything,” Harry goes on. “Not-” he quickly continues when a murmur threatens to erupt, “because I don’t trust you. I trust every single person in this room. More than you realize. I’m telling you everything I can without putting your lives into unnecessary risk.”

“But you’re not telling us anything!” Gideon Prewett says.

Harry looks at him, and then on his brother Fabian, with a small crease between his brows. He looks sad.

“Hermione and I have been working for the past year at taking down Voldemort, piece by piece. We’re very close to succeeding…

“We realized that- even if… _when_ we manage to kill him, there’s going to be people who suffer until then. We aren’t finished, and we won’t be for a while yet,” Harry says and swallows. “But every day people are being kidnapped, tortured, and killed. We can’t save them, not without you.”

His words are followed by a heavy silence.

Then Hermione stands up.

“Harry’s right,” she begins. “But even more than that, even when Voldemort is dead, there will be supporters left. In the Ministry, in the Wizengamot, controlling the media, the educational system, and our culture.”

Harry is looking at Hermione as she speaks, and he looks relieved to have her there. He turns back to the others when she quiets.

“This Order is created to protect those who can’t protect themselves against Voldemort. He starts with those we won’t notice: squibs and Muggles. A thousand nameless and faceless people we will never even know of. Then he takes the ones without connections: the Muggleborn. 

“He slithers his way into the Ministry and convinces those he can, threaten the reluctant, _Imperius_ the weak, and kill those he can’t. He doesn’t care about anyone, but he has charisma and he has power. Not just the magical kind. But the power in silence and fear. We can’t let him have that power. We have to speak out.

“The Wizarding community is already small, and Voldemort and his supporters are making it smaller by the hour. Cleansing England until there are only purebloods and those people who share his twisted worldview left.” Harry’s voice is twisted in disgust as he says this. “But we are not his beliefs. We do not stand for his values. Let’s show the wizarding world there is a light to rally behind. Let’s show them that we dare to speak, that there is still hope. Let’s show them we are still here and still fighting.”

Lily pulls in an unsteady breath. There is an intensity to him that is quite inescapable. More people realize this, as they slowly come back into the now, shifting uncomfortably.

“What order?” Fabian Prewett asks into the silence. He doesn’t flinch when everyone turns to look at him as he breaks the silence which settled after Harry’s speech.

“What?” Harry asks.

“You mentioned ‘this order’, that it’s created to break the silence and help the helpless and all that,” Fabian goes on. “Very impressive things and all, but I was wondering what this ‘order’ you’re referring to is.”

“Oh,” Harry says, sounding rather unmoored. “This er- this is the Order of the Phoenix.”

Lily raises her brows. This is the first time she hears that name. She checks with James, but he shrugs as well.

“Did we decide on a name?” Dumbledore asks, sounding rather amused.

Harry frowns, looking confused.

“Sir, you-”

Hermione, who has sat quietly next to him, apparently kicks him where it hurts because Harry shuts up rather abruptly. 

“I rather think it’s a good name,” Lily says, remembering the majestic Phoenix she spotted flying around the Hogwarts grounds more than once during the last term before graduation. She is clever enough to realize it’s Harry’s Animagus since James told her of the unfortunate last full moon.

James seems to agree with her. He looks Harry up and down and smiles.

“Yes, very clever.”

Most people, who are unaware of Harry’s Animagus, in fact everyone except Lily, James, Remus and Dumbledore, are looking at Dumbledore, remembering his Patronus and his familiar who, today, is sitting up on a bookshelf and regarding them all with black, knowledgeable eyes.

“It’s a good name,” Dumbledore agrees. “It tells of rebirth and hope and bravery, all things we will need and strive to accomplish.”

Harry is looking around the table like he can’t believe what’s happening, but when brought to vote, he says nothing more and just raises his hand in favour of the suggestion.

“Good,” Dumbledore says, clapping his hands together. “Now that the important business of coming up with a name is settled, I invite you all to stay for drinks. To those of you who must be on your way, I urge you to take caution with whom you speak.”

Most people depart quickly. Either through the Floo or an Apparition spot not far away. Some take brooms and Lily spots an old lady step on the bus.

Remus offers his quick goodbyes and vanishes as fast as he can. Lily only understands why when Hermione joins their small group a moment later, looking forlornly after Remus. Lily gives Hermione a quick hug, careful not to jar the drink in her hand.

“How are you?” she asks, pretending not to see when Hermione’s lower lip trembles.

“As well as can be expected,” she says, once again surprising Lily with her maturity. “I’m so glad you came. Harry was on pins and needles the entire time until he saw you.”

Lily frowns. She didn’t know he was so worried. She didn’t even know he thought of them at all, especially given the silence from the duo ever since…

She wonders if she should bring it up. Hermione is blushing a little, having given away more than she probably intended. She transforms the wine in her glass to water with a discreet flick of her wand.

“What are you up to, these days?” Hermione says, forcing the conversation in a new direction.

Lily excitedly begins explaining her acceptance into the Healing Apprenticeship Program. Hermione sounds absolutely riveted which warms Lily’s heart.

“I considered going in the Healer direction,” Hermione confides with her. “Harry was always getting himself injured left and right and when the Hospital became too big a liability…”

She once again cuts herself off. Lily restrains herself from shaking the girl, trying to quell her curiosity.

“Why didn’t you?” Lily asks instead, when it looks like Hermione will sink into a deep thought and disappear.

“Oh! I didn’t have time before we were already through-” Hermione visibly chokes before continuing, “and then I could focus on what I _really_ wanted to, especially as I suddenly had a voice and it seemed only right I use it…”

Hermione puts a hand before her mouth, stopping the flow of words.

“Are you all right?” Lily asks, worriedly when Hermione’s eyes grow large.

“I need to go,” she says through her hand blocking her mouth. “It was nice seeing you. I’d love to catch up sometime. I’ll send an owl if I may.”

Lily nods, happy to regain a friend. Hermione nods in response and backs away, hand still clamped over her mouth.

“Odd,” Lily says. “I wonder what that was about.”

James doesn’t answer so she looks up to see him hunching his shoulder with a chagrined expression.

“James!” she exclaims in a hiss. “What did you do?”

He mutters something she can’t hear, so she adopts her stern face and he eventually crumples. 

“I may have slipped her some tongue-loosening potion,” he admits.

“James!” she says again, scandalized. “That is completely inappropriate! We are at a secret meeting discussing war strategies!” she hisses under her breath as she guides him away from the crowds.

“The meeting was over,” James defends weakly. 

Lily glares at him.

“That is beside the point! You have no idea what sort of things she might have let slip without meaning to. And after Harry spoke of the importance of keeping the secrets divulged to us!”

“But that’s the thing, isn’t it?” James murmurs. “Don’t you think it’s weird how he promotes bringing forth the truth and light and whatnot while still remaining tight-lipped about his own secrets?”

“Yes, of course,” Lily admits, noting the twinge of doubt in her chest which rumbles in agreement. “But I believe they have a good reason for it,” she says and notes to her relief that she does believe it. “And no matter the case, you shouldn’t ever force the truth out like that. Just imagine if she found out, the distrust she would feel for you.”

“You’re right,” James says, shame faced. “I just don’t like this secrecy.”

Lily raises a sardonic eyebrow. James notices and blushes.

“When I’m not in on it,” he elaborates.

“Pot, meet kettle,” Lily says, rather enjoying his discomfort.

“Yes, I know. But this is so much bigger than any silliness we got up to,” he argues.

“Yes, you were just running around with a class five beast every month for fun.”

“It was completely safe,” James pouts.

“I know, dear.”

“It frustrates me, ‘s all. Not to know what’s really going on.”

“I know,” Lily says again. “But I trust Harry and Hermione, and I trust they’ll tell us when they can. You, however, can’t go around drugging them or they’ll never trust us,” she ends sternly.

James sighs but eventually smiles.

“You’re right, of course,” he says and plants a small kiss on her nose.

“You bet I am, and don’t you forget it.”

“Never again,” James vows and smiles so deeply his eyes crinkle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I had Harry start the Order of the Phoenix (by accident). I just couldn’t resist! xD
> 
> We’re all just going to ignore that Hagrid has been at Hogwarts this entire time and that Harry didn’t visit him once? *looks around sternly, and nods* Good.
> 
> Also, please don't hate James for drugging Hermione. It was just a light thing and she wouldn't have actually disclosed anything too major. Let's all remember he is a Marauder and that's not just a title. Besides, Lily set him straight and he won't do it again.
> 
> Next chapter, we're getting into the thick of the prophecy, promise! :D


	33. Tail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years! May 2021 be better! (つ◕౪◕)つ━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ
> 
> I'd like to thank you all for leaving kudos and comments. I know I'm behind on answering, but just know I love and appreciate every single one of you! (*´-｀*)

“Hermione, did you clean out the cauldron?” Harry asks, surprised at seeing the draught they were brewing completely gone.

“Of course not!” Hermione calls back. “There should still be just barely one more batch left. Let it simmer. I want to see whether it affects the potency any. It needs to brew for at least two more weeks. Don’t touch it unless it starts growing a film.”

“Er… Hermione?” Harry says uncertainly.

“What?” Hermione asks, coming into the kitchen, wearing a frown.

“The potion is gone…”

“What?!” she yells coming up to look.

“Yeah, see,” Harry says, gesturing to the cauldron, allowing her to bend over and see. “Not even a drop of it left. It doesn’t get this clean even from a vanishing spell.”

Hermione is inspecting the empty cauldron with a deeply concentrated expression.

“No…” she says slowly. “You’re right. This wasn’t done by a vanishing spell.”

“What’d’you reckon?” he asks, also leaning over the cauldron despite not expecting to see anything different than when he looked a moment ago to see it empty.

“I’m not sure,“ Hermione says slowly, still eyeing the potion.

Harry shrugs and begins plucking out the ingredients they’ll need for a new batch. Hermione watches him for a moment, then sighs and joins him. Painstakingly, they begin anew.

~o~o~o~o~

When the owl pecks their window, Hermione jumps up so quick a small pile of books tumbles over. She hardly notices and dashes over to let the owl in. It’s a big brow screech owl which swoops around their flat before landing on the kitchen counter and haughtily sticking out its leg for Hermione to release the letter attached to it. The owl, as soon as it’s released, starts hooting with a demanding scowl on its face.

“Sorry, I don’t have any treats for you,” Hermione says apologetically and turns instead to the letter. Her heart sinks as soon as she recognizes the handwriting as _not Remus’_. She silently scowls at herself and opens it.

> _Dear Hermione,  
>  I hope this letter reaches you all right. Caesar is James’ owl and he’s still suspicious of me. He has been told to await your reply, but he has flown off before… _
> 
> _I hope you are well. I was wondering if you’d like to join me for lunch this Saturday. James is off with his friends and I can’t help but worry during these times. Some company would be much appreciated. Only if you’d like to, of course!_
> 
> _I’ll await your owl._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Lily_

Hermione stares down at the letter, unsure how to feel. It’s an outstretched hand if Hermione has ever seen one. A little guilty she remembers she said she would owl Lily, but they’ve been so busy she simply forgot. And now Lily has gone and done it for her. Without any blame. In fact, going so far as to convey _she_ is the silly one for needing company when her fiancé is gone. 

Snorting slightly at the idea of Lily ever needing anyone like that, Hermione sets out to locate a quill. She writes down a quick reply, doing her darndest to offer her delight at the invitation and agreeing heartily. 

The owl has set to… jumping around the flat, attacking seemingly random spots with a sharp beak and quick movements. Hermione stares.

“Caesar?” she asks, tentatively, and the owl hoots as it looks up. “Would you deliver this to Lily?” she says, waving the letter uncertainly.

Caesar hoots again and flaps his wings, letting loose a few brown feathers in the process. Hermione walks over to it and attaches the letter. She gently pets the surprisingly fluffy head and thanks the owl as it takes flight and leaves through the same window it came through.

She spares a small thought to Harry, unsure how he will react when she tells him she will be spending time with his mum-to-be, that he wasn’t invited. Well, she tries to shake herself out of that funk, it’s better one of them is friends with Lily and James, than none of them. 

~o~o~o~o~

Harry looks on as Regulus Black makes his excuses and leaves Snape, Barty Crouch Jr, and the other group of probably-already-Death-Eaters. Harry tries to feel nothing as Snape puts a comforting hand on Regulus’ shoulder and smiles. It looks wrong on the face of a man Harry has only ever seen sneering.

Regulus pays for his drinks and exits. Harry waits another minute before he, too, stands. He makes for the bathroom and, as soon as he has made sure he’s alone, he clambers out through the small window, narrowly avoiding knocking his elbow painfully into the frame.

He makes his way to the main street, thankful for the narrow gap between the pub and the building next to it allowing him to just barely be able to squeeze through. Harry isn’t broad, which is lucky, but he wonders at the construction as the gap tapers even further in the middle. He pulls in a well needed breath as he gets out on the other side. Looking about, he spots Regulus who is only just making his way down the street. 

The night is quiet. Not least because most establishments have closed down after the continuous raids in the alley. Harry wonders at the similarities to his memory of what happened when Voldemort came to power in his time. The only difference is that there’s no Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes to cheer the place up this time.

The path Regulus takes is a familiar one. At the far end of either side of Diagon Alley are the Apparition points. Harry follows at a comfortable distance, knowing where they’re going and knowing where Regulus is headed. He is less cautionary than he should be as someone suddenly yanks his arm, hard, pulling him into an adjacent alleyway. 

“Wha-” he says but shuts up when he sees the wand pointing in his face.

Sirius stares back at him with cold, grey eyes. His wand is steady, and Harry gets the feeling that one wrong move will send a series of hexes his way.

“Why are you following Reg?” Sirius asks.

“Sirius,” Harry begins but Sirius cuts him off with a twitch of the wand and a small noise of warning.

“Tell me or so help me Merlin,” Sirius says. “I will hex you to the other side of the Thames.” 

Harry believes him. Mind scrambling to come up with a good explanation that won’t reveal too much, he notices how the footsteps outside have stopped. Not good. He hasn’t heard the sound of someone Disapparating yet, which means Regulus is still here and might have heard them.

“Sirius,” Harry says, raising his hands.

“And none of your shite excuses. I’ve heard them all and I don’t buy it. Even if no one else is willing to look too closely, I know something’s up.”

Sirius keeps talking, and rather than staying relatively quiet, his voice is getting louder. Harry sees no other way. He feels his wand against his skin, concentrates hard and sends the silent spell straight at Sirius. As he grows still and quiet, Harry sends a small grateful thought to Hermione who forced him to practice.

Harry steps up to the immobilized teen checking to see he really is incapacitated. Then he sneaks up to the mouth of the alley. Regulus is nowhere to be seen. He sends a small _Homenum Revelio_ just to be sure but the only people anywhere near them are either indoors or far away. 

Turning back to Sirius, Harry can see how wide his eyes are. Feeling slightly guilty, he realizes Sirius has probably convinced himself Harry is going to kill him or do away with him in some horrible way or another. His imagination really is something to be reckoned with.

Knowing it’s futile, Harry says, “I’m not going to hurt you.” Thinking fast, he comes to a conclusion. 

The reason Sirius wasn’t invited into the Order from the start is his impulsiveness and, perhaps more importantly, his still strong ties to Regulus. But if he’s going to get involved like this where it might cause them to reveal themselves to the actual Death Eaters, it’s better to induct him. If nothing else than to keep a close eye on him. 

Something flutters in Harry’s chest at the thought. He realizes his excuses not to include Sirius might have been entirely selfish and, retrospectively, very dangerous. Sirius on his own is not good for him.

“I’m going to tell you the truth,” Harry says quickly. “But not here, it’s not safe.” Sirius glares at him, which Harry ignores. Instead, he whispers the address to Bathilda Bagshot, feeling the magic as he shares the knowledge of the protected headquarters. “Look for the Patronus,” he tells Sirius who is staring wide-eyed at him now. “I’ll see you.”

He pulls on the Invisibility Cloak, realizing as he does this, that he really should have done so much earlier. Glancing back at Sirius, though, he can’t regret his mistake this time.

He slips out of the alley. Sirius remains frozen, eyes growing steadily wider as he realizes the magic isn’t releasing him and that he’s completely defenceless.

Harry stations himself across the street, looks about both ways and then cancels the spell. Sirius comes into action as if he was pushing against his binds this entire time, sputtering and swearing. Harry is silently impressed with his arsenal.

He follows Sirius like a shadow to the Apparition point and waits until he has gone with a loud _CRACK_. Then Harry steps into the Apparition point himself and goes after Regulus.

At Grimmauld Place No. 12, everything is silent. Harry briefly considers sneaking in, just to check, but eventually decides it’s not worth the risk. He watches another few minutes and then Apparates back to Diagon Alley. As he makes his way back to his and Hermione’s flat, he considers what he’s going to tell her.

~o~o~o~o~

Albus Dumbledore is a man who believes himself to be perceptive. Not to be immodest, but he is also very intelligent. Together, these two things make him a fairly good judge of character, in his own, if somewhat biased, opinion. That is not to say he hasn’t missed things; even the brightest minds make mistakes sometimes, but they are rare and far between. Which is why the conclusion he has drawn about Harry and Hermione, the one he drew even before he got to hear the full story about their mission, is stubbornly refusing to change: they are _good people_.

Everything he has seen from the young pair, during their time at Hogwarts and after, has only set to affirm his feelings on the matter.

His mind is cast once again, for he is sure he is reaching the hundreds now, to that unusual interview with Ms Trelawney. Utterly unaware of her own prophecy, she asked him if everything was all right. Bewildered and afraid, he asked her to repeat herself, to tell him what it meant, but, of course, she could not. She is little more than a vessel through which the Oracle will speak, and rarely at that, if he is to believe the several referrals she left for her application, which he is inclined to do.

Knowing himself to be the only living person who heard the prophecy puts him in a precarious position. He knows the Ministry records all prophecies, but he is also sure that they can’t be heard without the subject which they concern be present. Ms Trelawney didn’t hear it herself, proven by the slightest touch of Legilimency into her mind, one which Albus has never seen the likes of. Which leaves Albus.

The most worrisome part of the prophecy by far is the “marked by Death as its Master”. Albus knows all too well what the only interpretation of that can be. Someone has brought all three Hallows together and been recognized as the Master of Death. Which is impossible. He looks down on his wand, the Elder Wand, the one and only Hallow he ever managed to find. How can there possibly be a Master of Death when Albus himself holds one of the three relics?

Unless… “Once victorious”. He shudders to think it, but he did once defeat the man considered to be the evilest wizard of all time. “Returned to darkness”, implying someone dark was saved, brought into the light, only to return to darkness again. What in Merlin’s name could persuade him to return to darkness?

But then, “risen from the dead”. Impossible. Death is permanent. A fixture even Fate herself can’t break. He knows this to be true, a fact settled deep into his bones. He sought every possible remedy, read every book and turned every stone to find something, anything, which could bring his sister back to him. There is nothing. Only shadows and dreams.

And yet, “risen from the dead”... there really is very little room for interpretation. The stone, of course, promises the possibility to bring someone back, but even in the story with the original brother, the girl was a shadow of herself, not meant for this world. Quite different from being risen from the dead. And twice!

“With power the Dark Lord knows not”... There are a few interpretations. The most obvious is the power of the three Hallows, but there’s another, tickling, thought which keeps popping up. He thinks of the blood pact he and- … Albus remembers the power. He remembers how he sought to break it. There are few things as powerful as love, a fact which Voldemort has never understood or even wanted to understand.

“The three shall be one” seems to allude to the Hallows once more, but then again, “be one” isn’t the same as if to say, “be united”. Briefly his mind touches on the Philosopher’s Stone, a stone made of three stones made one, in order to create the elixir of life. Surely a powerful thing, something the Dark Lord has sought, immortality, but also, because of the very fact that he has already sought it, surely not a power he “knows not”.

Of course, there is a completely different interpretation of the prophecy. One in which one Harry Jameson has been more restrictive with information than Albus is willing to admit. One in which everything takes on a different meaning.

Albus is a good judge of character, but he isn’t infallible. 

Albus sighs and rubs his eyes. There is a reason he never continued with Divination. It’s a subject with little reliability at best, and will create the circumstances to fit at worst. He pulls himself out of the Pensieve he has spent the last hours in, and shuts it away.

Making up his mind as he goes, he picks up his cloaks and leaves for Hogsmeade. He ought to visit the pair. Perhaps seeing them and talking to them will shed some light on the whole thing.

~o~o~o~o~

“Professor Dumbledore!” Hermione exclaims as she opens the door, and Harry looks up to see. “Has something happened?”

“No,” Dumbledore answers politely. “I’m sorry for intruding on you like this-”

“It’s all right,” says Harry and jumps up to greet him. “I actually wanted to speak with you, sir.”

“Oh?” Dumbledore says and sits down on their lonesome couch.

“Yeah, I, er spoke to Sirius,” Harry begins and quells the urge to blush. “Well, he was following me following Regulus-” He cuts off when Dumbledore chuckles.

“Oh, I can only imagine that went over well,” Albus says, chortling.

“Er,” Harry says, grinning abashed. “No, he was rather upset.”

“Naturally,” Albus agrees. “And what did you do then?”

“I sort of invited him to the Order,” Harry spills out very fast, awaiting Dumbledore’s forbidding look. It doesn’t come. Instead, Albus looks thoughtful.

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” he finally settles on. Seeing Harry’s bewilderment, he smiles and continues. “I’ve seen you two become friends over the last year. I was rather more surprised at your insistence to invite James and Lily, to be honest. But if I may ask, why now?”

Harry struggles to come up with a reasonable explanation. In the end he shrugs.

“I think I was trying to protect him, but I realized that he won’t be able to stay out of it, no matter my feelings on the matter.”

Hermione joins them then, offering them each a cup of tea. 

“Thank you,” Dumbledore says and takes a sip. “I believe I understand the rationale,” he says, turning once more to Harry. “But I think you might have set yourself up for failure what with excluding him while inviting his friends. Once he finds out, that is. Or do you plan on keeping it a secret still? Because I think that’s unwise, for a multitude of reasons I’m sure you see as well as I.”

“No, I don’t think there’s any way to keep it from him,” Harry agrees. “Besides, I don’t want them to keep secrets from each other. It won’t lead to good things,” he adds darkly.

Dumbledore says nothing to this. 

“I think some secrets are inevitable, in war,” Hermione says, joining the conversation. She blushes when Dumbledore and Harry turn to look at her. “I just mean,” she continues, “war strategies, allegiances, spies… There’s bound to be some things that can’t be told, or the war’s lost before it begins.”

“You’re right, of course,” Dumbledore agrees. “Some things must be kept quiet.”

Harry gets a sudden sense of foreboding. He exchanges a wary look with Hermione, who looks just as unsettled. 

“Professor?” Harry says searchingly. 

“Harry?” Dumbledore says politely.

“Is there something you’re not telling us?”

Dumbledore meets Harry’s eyes. He seems to be thinking very hard on something. Harry doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but eventually something softens in Dumbledore’s eyes and he nods.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been completely forthright with you,” he begins, and sets his tea down.

“Sir?” Harry asks, fear rising in his chest.

“I recently went to interview someone for the newly vacated position of Divination professor,” Dumbledore begins.

“What?” Harry asks, dumbly.

“The position of Divination professor,” Dumbledore repeats.

“No,” Harry says.

“Harry,” Hermione begins, but Harry shakes his head.

“No, the prophecy isn’t supposed to be spoken until next year. It can’t be-”

“Harry, let him finish,” Hermione pleads with him, but her eyes are wide and scared. “It might not be what you think.”

Dumbledore is looking between them with renewed interest and curiosity, but he doesn’t question them.

“Ms Sybil Trelawney comes from a long line of Seers, but I was disappointed when she didn’t show any signs of having the gift herself,” Dumbledore explains, and Harry clamps his mouth shut to stop himself interrupting again. “When I was just about to leave, thanking her for the interview but explaining I couldn’t offer her the job, she spoke the first real prophecy of our time there.”

Harry shuts his eyes. In his mind’s eye he can see it all too clearly. Trelawney, with her shawls and jewellery, speaking in that deep, raspy voice she only ever used when making a real prophecy, saying-

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord is upon us, marked by Death as its Master… once victorious he has returned to darkness… risen from the dead, with power the Dark Lord knows not... by Death collected and twice returned... the three shall be one and he will rise again, stronger than before... "_

Harry opens his eyes. What?

“Your surprise tells me it is not the same prophecy as the one you undoubtedly heard in your own timeline,” Dumbledore says, scanning Harry’s face intently. “This should be reassuring, really, because it means we have accomplished our goal: we are changing things. It takes quite a bit of intervention to change a prophecy.”

“But-” Harry says, not sure what to say. Hermione puts a gentle hand on his.

“I think this is a good thing,” Hermione says quietly. “See, there’s nothing about a boy, nothing to indicate to Voldemort he should target-” 

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but Harry hears it anyway. Nothing to target his parents, or him. His parents are safe. Relief washes over him in waves.

“Might I ask what the prophecy you heard said?” Dumbledore asks.

After a brief hesitation, Harry tells him. Once again, he doesn’t include the parts about how the prophecy pertained to him. It shouldn’t matter anymore. He supposes it matters even less now, given the prophecy has changed so much as to not even include him anymore.

Dumbledore strokes his beard as he thinks. Harry tries to take a sip of his tea, but it has grown cold. Finally, Dumbledore looks up at them.

“I think,” he says calmly, “that there’s something you’re not telling me.” He sounds hesitant. Harry notes the lines in his face in a way he doesn’t usually. Dumbledore is worried. “I think,” he begins again, weighing his words, ”I’ve shown myself to be trustworthy. We are well beyond the point of avoiding changing too many things. Which leads me to believe that whatever you’re not telling me will cause me to react in a way you wish to prevent.” He pauses here, peering at them closely. “Or, you think there are some aspects you don’t think I need to know.

“Sir- “

Dumbledore cuts across Harry.

“Should this be so, I would implore of you to reconsider. While I don’t want to impose on your privacy, there is little about you, the situation and the war which could ever be considered _unimportant_ , and I would ask that you trust me enough to tell me, whatever it is that makes you hesitate whenever we discuss certain aspects of your timeline.”

He has chosen his words very carefully, but it’s enough for Harry to realize that Dumbledore has very much begun to string things together. If they don’t tell him, he is likely to figure it out, or so he believes.

Harry and Hermione exchange another look. She looks as indecisive as he feels. Harry suddenly longs for simpler times, when telling Dumbledore equated to solving the problem; when those kind blue eyes which always make Harry feel like he is being X-Rayed, would peer curiously at him, and he could tell Dumbledore everything. Reluctantly, Harry turns back to Dumbledore.

“We need to discuss this,” he says slowly. “You might be right. You might need to know a few more things, because you’re right; we have been keeping some things from you. Not because we don’t trust you, but because we’re not sure if it’s good for you to know or not.”

There, he said it. Heart beating fast, he looks to see Dumbledore’s reaction. To his credit, he looks thoughtful rather than impatient or cross.

“I see,” he says finally. “Thank you, for telling me that much at least.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I trust I’ll be seeing you both at the next meeting?”

“Of course,” Harry says. “Don’t forget to send the Patronus to Sirius, too.”

“And Peter?”

Harry looks at Hermione. Her expression is unreadable.

“No,” Harry shakes his head. “Not yet, at least.”

“Very well,” Dumbledore says. “I wish you a nice evening. See you in a few days.”

Thank you, and goodbye, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I did a fanart thingie for chapter 19](https://raziella.tumblr.com/post/638776179719094272/i-tried-to-art-no-im-not-telling-you-how) if you want to have a look :)


	34. Eye for an Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used the Christmas holidays to write as far ahead as I could in the hope of being able to wrapping the story up but, almost in defiance, it just kept growing longer as I thought of more things I just *had* to add. So, it's not even close to finished- Hope you'll stick it out (/. \\)

Sirius’ heart is beating a mile a minute as he goes to the little house close to James’ place. He used to visit Ms Bagshot whenever the Potters did and, as they were friends, it happened every once in a while. Sirius never realized he forgot about their address until Harry whispered into his ear, hot breath hitting his ear and neck. Sirius shivers as he remembers.

_Not the time_ , he tells himself sternly. _His eyes were so green, so earnest_ , his subconscious supplies, unhelpfully. They really were, Sirius agrees. _You should look at them more often_ , his mind tells him. 

For once, he’s in agreement with his more honest self. He really should look at them more closely, to find out what secrets they hide.

His inner voice thankfully remains silent at these thoughts. Perhaps not daring to push the subject. _Hah! Take that, voice_ , Sirius thinks gleefully. He smirks. Then he realizes it may not be considered a victory to win over the voice in his head, the one he is unsure if anyone else actually has. His grin turns sour.

_Whatever_ , he thinks. _I still won._

He marches up to the familiar door of Ms Bagshot and thrusts out his hand to knock, but the door swings open before his knuckles connect with the wood. Mildly annoyed at being denied his chance to vent some of his frustration on the wood, and mildly disconcerted at the magic involved in being recognized and allowed entrance at his presence alone, he steps inside.

It’s a gathering of some twenty people, maybe more if there are people upstairs, too. He recognizes quite a few. He nods at the Prewett brothers and shakes hands with Elphias Doge. 

When he spots James and Lily, it feels like a gut-punch to the solar plexus. His world turns red. Mindlessly he shoves his way between the people, unbothered by their grunts of irritation. He makes his way to the couple and before he knows it, he has his hands in the lapels of James’ robes.

“Don’t worry?” he hisses at James whose smile of greeting turns into a bugged-eye expression as he’s shoved backwards. “Focus on your assignments?” Sirius says, voice growing louder. “There’s nothing we can do?” he finally reaches a yelling point.

James is looking shaken as he finds himself pressed against the wall, pushed there by his furious friend.

“Siri,” he says, half surprise and half placatingly.

“Don’t you ‘Siri’ me when you’ve been in this secret- secret _thing_ for whoever knows how long, working the opposition without telling me anything! I thought we were _brothers,_ ” he yells and finds to his horror that his voice breaks.

He shoves away from James but is caught when James reaches out to pull him back.

“Of course you are,” James says, distress clearly visible on his face.

“Doesn’t seem like that stand for a lot then,” Sirius says, an ugly sneer forcing itself on his face without his control.

“Don’t be stupid, Pads,” James says sternly. “I would die for you, you know that.”

“But not tell me the truth,” Sirius says, bitterness tasting like acid on his tongue.

“I told the others they had to invite you, that you were as much for the cause as any one of the people here,” James insists, sweeping with an expansive hand across the room.

“Yeah? Then how come I wasn’t invited until now?”

James shrugs helplessly, “They must have had their reasons, Pads. But you _are_ here now.”

“Yeah,” Sirius says slowly, looking about again. Most people are looking at them, several have their wands drawn and all of them look weary, some even suspicious. He shows his teeth at them vindictively, but gratingly they don’t appear bothered. With huge effort, Sirius forces down his frustration to a manageable level and turns back to James and asks: “Where exactly is here?”

James gives him a searching look, checking to see if his temper is level no doubt, before he grins and opens his arms in an expansive, welcoming gesture.

“Welcome,” he says with a flourish, “to the Order of the Phoenix.”

“The what?” Sirius says without inflection.

James looks a little disappointed at his lack of enthusiasm but rallies quickly.

“This is the resistance. We were invited by Dumbledore and we’re all here to make sure You-Know-Who’s forces don’t make too much damage.”

“Great job so far,” Sirius says sardonically.

“Hey!” someone from the crowd, clearly eavesdropping, calls. Sirius and James both ignore them.

“Well,” James says, scratching the back of his head a little self-consciously. “This is only the third meeting and we’re still very much setting up our strategies, gathering information and establishing priorities and such.”

“Heh,” Sirius says, rather underwhelmed by this. “Sounds boring.”

“Your face is boring,” James quips.

“My face is beautiful, and you know it,” Sirius says, a small surge of relief coming to him as James grins back at him. They’re fine.

“Honestly, boys,” Lily says, rolling her eyes.

Sirius, who rather forgot about her, turns to look at her in mock indignation. He pauses however, when he sees Hermione standing next to her, smiling ruefully. Of course, the Granger girl would be here if Harry invited Sirius.

That only leaves…

“Where’s Remus and Peter?” he asks.

A small silence meets his seemingly simple question. It’s finally Hermione who responds.

“Remus is off on a mission,” she says, a note of tension underlying her words.

“What? He got a mission already? Unfair!” Sirius calls, but it turns into a yowl when James steps on his foot. “What?” he asks, feeling the punishment is unwarranted. “It _is_. Anyone knows you’re as capable as anyone. Why don’t you have a mission?”

Again, it’s Hermione who answers. It’s definitely anger he sees now, Sirius is sure.

“Because Remus, unlike James, has certain _qualities_ Albus deems necessary to communicate with certain groups outside our community.”

It takes a moment for the words to penetrate. When they do, Sirius understands the anger, and feels his own rage bubble up the surface, never far down anyway.

“Dumbledore sent him to the _werewolves_?” he hisses.

The silence is answer enough.

It’s lucky the meeting starts then because Sirius isn’t sure what he would do if his thoughts hadn’t been forcibly removed from Remus alone with a pack of werewolves.

Sirius listens as Harry of all people begins the meeting. He has a gravitas that makes something in Sirius’ chest rumble. There are reports of missing and dead, suspected and confirmed; they all take a moment of silence. There is the worrisome report of a few Dementors missing from Azkaban and Ministry control. Nothing, of course, in the papers, but Dorcas Meadows confirms it with a grim expression. Aberforth, the owner of the Hog’s Head Inn, lists off suspicious patrons and snippets of conversation he has picked up.

Halfway through the meeting, there is a crash from the hallway and there is a mad scramble as thirty something people get up from the table and draw their wands. Sirius jumps over a fallen chair and accidentally knocks his shoulder into the archway from the kitchen into the living room.

It’s Lily who manages to get there first.

“It’s Moody,” she calls, and Sirius can hear something’s wrong. “He’s hurt!”

Caradoc Dearborn shoves his way to the front of the mass and kneels down next to Lily.

“Let me see,” he says, and begins casting diagnostic spells.

Sirius can’t see from his place in the middle of the throng, but he can hear the worried mutterings. The crowd slowly lets him through, and he stops just behind the Prewett brothers and looks down on Moody. Sirius immediately wishes he hadn’t rushed forward. Dearborn and Lily are covering most of his body, but Sirius can still see the blood is oozing from Moody’s face. 

“What happened?” he hears someone mutter, but no one answers. No one knows.

From beneath Dearborn and Lily’s careful ministrations they can hear Moody grunting, but from pain or irritation is hard to tell. It mostly sounds the same where Moody is concerned. 

After what feels like an eternity, Moody is let up from the floor and set in a magically produced stretcher, against his wild protests. He is wearing an eye-patch which makes his already grisly appearance all the more intimidating.

“You are hurt and you will do as the Healer says,” Lily says to him in a stern voice that Sirius would never dare take with Moody. It is also a voice he would never dare contradict. It’s interesting to see the results; Moody gives Lily an annoyed look but remains in place.

The meeting resumes in a somewhat subdued manner. Dumbledore asks Moody to explain what happened and Moody reluctantly begins his explanation.

“I was tailing Harold Minchum,” Moody says.

“The Minister for Magic?” someone asks.

“Yes, the Minister for Magic. Do you know anyone else by that name? Where’s your head at, boy?” Moody growls. “I was tailing Minchum trying to make sure he wasn’t put under the _Imperius_ or killed. ‘Course, he has his own guard; a useless bunch I never knew how they got through the program.”

“But what happened?” someone asks, impatiently.

“Getting there,” Moody growls irritably. “I was tailing him when there was an emergency call as Dementors were supposedly attacking Diagon-” Moody ignores the collective intake of breaths. “-turns out it was a false alarm, but by the time I got back, Minchum was gone and his guard dead. I understood there had been a coordinated plan to get the Minister and I wasn’t sure who was in on it-”

“Why didn’t you call _us_?” Frank Longbottom butts in, sounding both shocked and upset.

“Because we can’t be known to be working together. Think, boy! How would it look if I called on you two and no one else, hm?” he says, indicating Frank and Alice. “You’d be immediately suspected if it ever got out there’s a resistance. Anyway,” Moody goes on when the Longbottoms have settled back down. “I sensed the Apparition trail and followed. They weren’t expecting that, let me tell you,” Moody chuckles grimly. “Seven Death Eaters,” he states, grunting at the sounds of distress from his captive audience. “At least they were anticipating it to be difficult, I’ll give ‘em that.”

“What did you do?”

“I followed their trail so there was no room for stealth. I charged. Took down three of them. One got away, Disapparated as soon as he saw me,” Moody chuckles, a grim sound. “Cowards, the lot of them, I tell you. One tried to take Munchin and retreat but Minchum’s got spunk. He didn’t have his wand, of course, but he kicked and punched, and I don’t think the one holding him was expecting Muggle tactics, but he let go after a groin-kick I haven’t seen the likes of since the world cup of ‘66. Anyway, while I was busy with the other two, an eighth one I didn’t notice had joined and snuck up on me from behind-”

“And that’s the one who got you?” Fabian asks, sympathetically.

“Will you let me finish?” Moody growls. “No, he didn’t ‘get me’. I stunned him and sent him and the others to the DMLE to deal with. I was just about to get the Minister back to his office, but the last one must have managed to get a hex in after all, because he was acting real strange. I was thinking of taking him to St. Mungo’s when the bastard turned the wand from one of his captors on himself. I wasn’t expecting that. I thought he would attack _me_ , if anything, or try to Disapparate, so it took me a second to react. In the end I didn’t have time to do anything but grab his arm and, well, he got it directed at me instead and blew my eye out.”

Stunned silence follows this tale. 

“The Minister…” someone mutters.

“I managed to knock him out, straight in the eye,” Moody says with a pleased grin. “He’ll be able to keep his, mind you - and sent him to St. Mungos. I don’t think he’s turned. Just a self-destruction fail-safe which misfired. But we’ll need to keep a lookout to make sure they don’t try again. Shacklebolt’s with him now so we should be all right.”

“Merlin,” Meadows says faintly.

“Yeah,” Moody says. “Lost an eye for that fucker so he better be keeping things straight at the Ministry after this.”

Someone huffs but it’s a weak thing.

The rest of the meeting is spent coordinating the tailing of other people of interest they can’t lose. Harry is mostly quiet, regarding Moody with an intensity that isn’t lost on Sirius.

~o~o~o~o~

Later, when everything has calmed down, the meeting has ended and everyone has gone home, Harry pulls out two glasses and a bottle of Firewhiskey. Hermione, who has set up the table with the usual notebooks, miniature horcruxes and stacks of books, raises an eyebrow.

“Taking the night off?” she asks, eyes lingering on the bottle.

Harry shrugs and sets the items down between the finished-pile and the remaining-pile, more a name than anything now, since it consists of just the locket. It’s a sign of their progress, but the more Harry thinks about it the more time he has to worry they’re missing something.

“We deserve it,” he says and pours them both two fingers each. Hermione doesn’t dispute him.

“I’ve been thinking about Peter,” Hermione says, taking a careful sip of her drink, grimacing. She continues quickly when Harry scowls at her. “I think we need to make sure. Just the fact that Dumbledore asked about it, and the fact that they’re all still friends… he’s a little bit too close to everything for comfort.”

“He’s a little bit too alive, if you ask me,” Harry bites out, but then forces himself to unclench his fist. Peter hasn’t done anything. _Yet_ , a cold and hateful voice whispers in his ear. Harry ignores it. “What d’you reckon?”

“I’m not sure,” Hermione says, warily regarding Harry’s stony expression, waiting for an explosion, no doubt. “He got a job at the Ministry this week, I heard from Lily. It’s just a minor position in the Department of Magical Transportation; he’s little more than an errand boy at this point.”

“But it’s another set of eyes in the Ministry,” Harry cuts in.

“Exactly,” Hermione says. “Because we’ve got Dorcas Meadows, Sturgis Podmore, Dedalus Diggle, and several Aurors on our side, we could probably infiltrate it, but it feels as if we would have a better shot at getting him while outside.”

“Probably. We can’t ask them for help, not without explaining, and we can’t explain.”

“That’s true, but they’ll probably think we’re on a mission and they won’t turn us in.”

“So, outside?”

“More conspicuous, though,” Harry says. “He lives alone, doesn’t he?”

“I think so.”

“Do you know where?”

Hermione shakes her head. “Everyone’s so careful these days. We can’t really ask anyone either. It’ll be too suspicious.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, scratching the skin under his wand-holster, thoughtfully. “We’ll have to follow him sometime, and go from there.”

Glad to be agreeing on a plan which isn’t ‘wait and see’, they toast their glasses together and drink.

“To being alive,” Harry says.

“To making changes,” Hermione says firmly.

“Yeah, that’s better,” Harry says, and drinks.

They sit in silence for a bit, each lost in their own thoughts. Harry thinks of the prophecy, the original one. They wouldn’t have heard it for another year, but the idea of Lily and James as they are now, getting the news that a madman is after their unborn child’s life.

“You know, I’m older than my mum and dad ever got to be,” he says into the silence. Hermione jerks and looks at him. “I always thought of them as adults, but there weren’t. They were just kids.”

“Just like us,” Hermione says after a moment.

“I don’t particularly feel like a child anymore,” Harry confesses.

“No,” Hermione says. “Neither do I. Not for a while, I think.”

“No.”

“Things will be different now,” Hermione says. There is a certain quality to her voice, a certain confidence, which makes something in Harry’s chest settle.

“Yes,” he says, meeting her steady gaze. “They really will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say how much fun I’m having with recreating these canon things which we don’t really know a lot about, like Moody losing an eye? ɷ◡ɷ It’s absolutely thrilling! (Although we do know he lost it later than this since he still had it at Karkaroff's hearing)


	35. Black Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments and support! You are what makes this journey possible! <3
> 
> We are heading into darker times...

The autumn of 1978 continues in much the same manner. More disappearances, more deaths. The silence is growing thicker and a sort of despairing hopelessness seems to settle over them as the Dementors spread over the British Isles, growing more in numbers every day.

Time seems to drag on in a way Harry hasn’t experienced in a long while. He tries to remind himself it’s infinitely better than the time he, Ron and Hermione were camping out in the woods. Then, they didn’t know what they were doing, if they were doing the right thing, what was going to happen. This time, he and Hermione know exactly what they’re doing. This is just waiting for the right time to act. 

It’s a comforting thought most of the time, but as time drags on, Harry starts to wonder if he has made a mistake somewhere. He can’t help but worry, what with all the changes he and Hermione have made, what if something major has been altered? What if Voldemort has made another horcrux? What if he has found out what they’re doing? 

Harry tries not to drown in these thoughts. He doesn’t bring them up with Hermione. It’s not that he’s afraid she’ll reprimand him and say ‘I told you so’ or anything like that. It’s more that, like last time, it feels like his responsibility. As if this worry is his to carry. 

He doesn’t harbour under any misconceptions that Hermione isn’t fighting the same internal battles. He sees the deep bags under her eyes and her trembling fingers as she boils their morning tea. As if by a silent agreement, they don’t speak about it.

One day Moody comes in with a magical eye in place where his eyepatch used to be. It’s a familiar thing and yet looks foreign on his face after having known the man for so long without it now.

Harry suggests jokingly he should wear a bowler hat to hide it when he’s in Muggle areas, and then facepalms when Moody only nods, consideringly.

Harry and Hermione keep on tailing Regulus, looking for signs of the moment when Voldemort contacts him. It’s both easier and harder when Regulus returns to Hogwarts. They know Voldemort can’t get to him there, but they also can’t keep track of his movement or the people he interacts with. They won’t know if he gets a message from Voldemort, which could be all too easily done, what with the school being filled with the children of Death Eaters.

When Christmas rolls around, they watch Regulus get off the Hogwarts Express, being greeted by Walburga Black. It is the first time either Hermione or Harry sees her alive, albeit from a distance, but they realize quickly that although she isn’t screaming as was her habit as a portrait, she still holds the same air around her. A sort of mad energy that threatens to explode out of her at the smallest provocation. Regulus handles her well, kissing her cheek politely and telling her in a calm, moderated voice about his achievements at school.

Harry and Hermione spend their Christmas in the Black attic, listening through extendable ears to everything that’s going on. More than once, Mrs Black erupts in a fiery temper, throwing curses and hexes at her husband and son. Regulus bears it all without complaint. 

Orion Black, Sirius’ father, Harry reminds himself, is a quiet man, and Harry isn’t quite sure what to make of him. He doesn’t oppose his wife and doesn’t defend himself against her wrath. Harry might feel sorry for him, but in the next moment he will turn around and tell them of the horrible outcome of a vote in the Wizengamot, or the puppets in the Ministry doing his bidding, or scathingly comment the overpopulation and integration of the Muggle-borns, and Harry will feel his temper rise until his hands are shaking from supressed rage.

It all rubs Harry the wrong way and he wonders if it’s all the product of generations of inbreeding or if there really is something which makes some people evil to their nature. It’s a familiar thought and not one he likes to dwell on.

The only hiccup in their adventure is when Kreacher pops into the attic to collect a set of silver plates for the Christmas dinner. It’s Harry’s turn to listen in on the Blacks and he’s so concentrated on a conversation between Regulus and Orion that he doesn’t understand that the _CRACK_ isn’t coming from the library where they’re sitting, but in the attic where he and Hermione are cooped up. It’s only when none of the men order Kreacher to bring anything or to go away that Harry slowly turns his head and finds the house-elf rummaging through a large wooden chest twice the size of him.

Harry stops breathing. He slowly brings up his wand and leans out between the boxes, ready. Kreacher isn’t muttering in the same way Harry remembers him to, but instead is humming a quiet off-key tune Harry doesn’t recognize. At one point he is bending so far down into the chest Harry is slightly worried he will fall in, but soon Kreacher re-emerges, holding a box. He closes the chest with a snap of his fingers and with a _CRACK_ he is gone again.

“That was close,” Hermione whispers, and Harry jumps, not having heard her come up behind him. “I didn’t think they ever came up here, given the thick layer of dust outside the door. I didn’t think about Kreacher who Apparates.”

Harry can see she is berating herself for this, so he is quick to reassure her.

“It’s fine. Neither of us did. We’re lucky he didn’t catch us.”

After a little while Hermione goes back to her book and Harry picks up the extendable ear again. Regulus and Orion Black are still discussing politics. Most of the names are unfamiliar and the conversation is going over Harry’s head. He scratches at the irritated skin under his wand holster. He wishes Sirius was here who could undoubtedly translate the intricate posh speak into English and add a flair of sarcastic side-commentary.

Harry wonders ruefully what Sirius would say if he knew Harry is sitting in his family’s ancestral home, listening in on his family’s conversation. Harry smiles a little as he imagines how his godfather would throw his head back and roar with laughter, fully supportive of any mischief, especially if it were directed at his family. Harry’s smile slips off his face as he thinks of the Sirius of this time who would undoubtedly approach it with great suspicion and mistrust.

The day progresses in silence after that. Hermione takes over from Harry at listening to the Blacks when the family sits down to eat. It’s a solemn affair where very little is said so Hermione keeps open a book to read while she listens, and Harry settles down in a sleeping bag to catch a few hours of shut-eye before it’s his turn again.

He has only just fallen into a light slumber when someone shakes his shoulder, and he blinks his eyes open again. Hermione holds out another string for an extendable ear to him. Her eyes are wide. Weary, Harry takes it and sticks it in his ear. The sound of talking is as close as if he were standing right next to them, which is lucky, because they are speaking in so low voices, he still has to strain his ears to hear.

“You’d do well to watch where you utter such things,” Walburga says, voice a quiet hiss which Harry wouldn’t have thought possible for the usually hysterically screaming witch to make.

“I don’t go babbling to strangers,” a deep man’s voice says, Orion, Harry thinks. “I just think we ought to look a little more carefully at what he’s actually propagating.”

Harry has to wonder who ‘he’ is for but a second.

“ _The Dark Lord_ ,” Walburga hisses, fury audible in the quivering of her voice, “stands for purity and for power to those befitted it, and that ought to be enough for you.”

“Yes, of course,” Orion says, even quieter. “But what do we really know of him? There are no…” he hesitates, and Harry can actually hear him swallowing, sticking the string to the extendable ear even further in his ear, “Voldemort family we’ve ever heard of.” Walburga makes an ugly noise but Orion goes on. “What’s his real name? Why does he hide it?”

“That isn’t for us to question,” Walburga hisses, voice sounding strained. Harry imagines she would like to scream this at her husband but even here, safe in their home, the fear of Voldemort is keeping them quiet.

Harry has a moment to wonder where Regulus is in all of this as the couple doesn’t say anything more. 

He and Hermione sit and listen for a while longer but nothing more is said and eventually, Harry pulls out the string, rubbing his sore ear, handing it back to Hermione.

“Wake me if they say anything more?” he asks and heads back to his sleeping bag when she nods. He shut his eyes, but sleep doesn’t come this time.

He didn’t know Orion had doubted Voldemort. He didn’t know the Blacks were ever in disagreement about it. Sirius only ever said his parents didn’t join Voldemort but that they wholeheartedly supported his beliefs. Of course, by this time, Sirius didn’t keep in touch with his family and it is fully possible he never knew. If this even happened in the original timeline, that is.

Once again, he feels the creeping worry about having missed something. He thinks of the McKinnons who disappeared much earlier than in his timeline. That was before they started doing anything to change things. Hermione’s words ring in his ears, about not changing anything, about the smallest things having expounding consequences.

When New Year’s rolls around, Harry can’t help but reminisce about the last year. It feels like much more than a year since he and Hermione transformed into their Animagus for the first time. The Phoenix is as much part of him as one of his limbs. Even now he can feel the soft warmth in his chest and the trilling of the majestic bird singing in his heart. 

The Blacks celebrate in a Wizard way which Harry doesn’t recognize despite having spent quite a few New Years with his wizarding friends by now. It begins in an ordinary enough way with dinner, although going by the sounds, a more extraordinary one than Harry can ever remember seeing. The packed boxes of Dallow’s Dainty Dinner Dues which Hermione brought for them have started to lose some of their appeal. The smell of roasted pheasant can be felt all the way up to the attic and Harry’s mouth waters, remembering Kreacher’s excellent cooking.

After dinner, they exchange gifts. It’s not the normal kind exchanged at Christmas, Harry understands when Walburga solemnly clasps hands with first Regulus and then Orion, muttering in a strange language. Orion and Regulus do the same afterwards. He only understands it to be gifts when they murmur their thanks afterwards.

Later they apparently share a drink for a brew which has been quietly simmering in the kitchen all day. They seem to get a little… funny after that. Regulus starts regaling stories of his friends from school and Walburga even giggles at some quiet thing Orion whispers to her.

“Naughty, naughty,” they hear her tut. Harry and Hermione exchange disgusted looks.

The evening is drawing into night and Harry wonders if it’s part of wizarding custom to celebrate all night and longingly thinks of his bed back at their flat. He’ll sleep for a full week when they get back from this, he decides.

But the evening isn’t over yet, it transpires. A high-pitched whining pierces the air as Kreacher pops back from a short visit to the cellar. It’s the one room they haven’t bothered bugging since the magical protection of it is too powerful for them to break through without notice. Elf-magic, Hermione explained.

The whining becomes even louder as whatever the thing is, is presented to Walburga. It’s so penetrating it’s interfering with the other sounds and Harry and Hermione struggle to make out what is being said.

“It’s your turn this year, husband,” Walburga says. Orion says something in return, but the thing makes a particularly loud noise just then and they can’t hear what it is. “Here,” Walburga goes on, apparently handing him something, “just so.”

Harry and Hermione exchange puzzled looks. Neither of them know what’s going to happen. Then a loud _thunk_ echoes through the strings to the extendable ears, and the whining stops abruptly. 

“There,” Walburga says.

There’s a small shuffling and then Orion makes an odd noise.

“Walbu-,” Orion says, voice wobbling.

“Yes, husband?” Walburga asks, silkily.

“What have you-” Orion begins, but again, he’s unable to finish his sentence. A horrible gurgling sound has replaced his questions. Walburga says nothing and the gurgling grows worse. “Wh- why?” he seems to ask, through rough hulking noises and a strained and wet rasping.

“You know why,” Walburga whispers quietly.

There is a final, awful gurgle and then silence.

Harry and Hermione look at each other, horror-struck. Hermione looks pale in the darkness and her mouth has fallen open. Never once did Harry suspect that Walburga was planning to murder her husband, when only hours before she was laughing and enjoying New Years with her family.

“Mother,” Regulus says, voice very quiet. Harry jerks, hurrying to listen again, drama apparently not over yet.

“Yes, Regulus?” Walburga replies.

Whatever Regulus was going to say never leaves his lips. Instead, there is a soft rustling, perhaps the stroke over someone’s hair, or a pat over their shoulder. 

“There’s a good boy,” Walburga says at last.

The only remaining members of the Black family head to bed, not saying another word. Harry and Hermione spend the rest of the night listening to the sound of Kreacher cleaning up the evening’s festivities which included, unbelievably, murder.

Two days later, they follow Regulus and Walburga, at a safe distance, to Platform 9 ¾ and watch as Walburga places a very light kiss an inch from Regulus’ cheek. They don’t exchange any words and Regulus quietly boards the Hogwarts Express, only casting a quick look back at Walburga once.

Harry follows the dark-haired boy until he disappears onto the train. They stay to watch the train depart. Then he takes Hermione’s hand and they Disapparate back to their flat, not saying a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, any Orion-fans... ∑(O_O;)
> 
> Next up: A Question of Honour
> 
> We're finally in 1979, and boy! do a *lot* of things happen here...!


	36. A Question of Honour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an important question is asked. Several times. And once not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS! I'm sooo excited to share this chapter with you! :D It's a little longer than normal but the previous ones have been a bit shorter so I hope it's all right.

Lily looks at the little house, feeling her fingers tremble. She squeezes them into fists and marches up to the front door. Three sharp knocks to the wood, and then she waits. She can hear movements from inside; someone calling something, and then steps approaching. For one brief second, she considers just Disapparating, but then the moment is over; the door opens.

“Lily,” says Petunia, eyes growing large. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Tuni,” Lily says with a shaky smile. “May I come inside?”

Petunia casts a look behind her, checking on her husband, Lily guesses. When she looks back at Lily, she chews her lip for a second before opening the door wider.

“Yes, all right.”

Lily steps inside. Petunia backs up. It doesn’t surprise Lily, but it still sends a sharp twinge through her heart. They haven’t hugged since she left school. Maybe longer, she can’t remember.

She looks around at the decor. There are quite a few pictures on the walls. Lily recognizes Petunia and their parents in some of them. Vernon is easily distinguishable, and she has no difficulty spotting what must be his parents with the same round chin and small eyes. 

She stops at a picture of her parents and Petunia. Lily has the same picture up in the kitchen at home, but in this one, Lily has been carefully cut out of the frame. There are dried flowers delicately decorated to cover up the places where there should be jagged edges. 

Petunia says nothing and Lily only looks at her briefly before continuing into the sitting room. Vernon follows them and sits down opposite Lily, grimacing at her. It takes a second for her to realize he’s attempting to smile.

“Would you like something to drink?” Petunia offers. Lily knows it would be considered beyond rude to refuse, so she nods.

“Some tea would be lovely.”

Petunia disappears into the kitchen. Lily listens to the sounds of her sister preparing the tea; water boiling and clinking from the porcelain. She avoids looking at Vernon as earnestly as he attempts to avoid looking at her. Finally, he clears his throat.

“So, how’s-” Vernon begins and then drops off, not knowing enough about Lily to ask her anything. Bravely he continues, “everything?”

“Fine, thank you,” Lily replies. Her hands are clammy. In her mind’s eye, she can only see Vernon and Petunia rushing out after their horrible dinner together when Lily introduced them to James. “How’re you?”

“Good, good, fine,” Vernon answers hurriedly, fiddling with a button on the cuff of his shirt, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

Lily looks at him for a moment, then steels herself and asks, “How’s everything going with the car?”

Vernon looks relieved and launches into the most boring story Lily has ever had to endure. It’s worse than listening to Professor Binns recounting the hundredth goblin war in History of Magic, Lily thinks disparagingly. Petunia returns in the middle of Vernon explaining the reduced price he got at a special car wash.

“Thank you,” Lily says as Petunia hands her a small cup painted with ugly roses in a saucer with golden rims. She puts the cup in her lap and waits until Petunia has sat down.

“It’s Earl Grey,” Petunia tells her, adding milk and sugar to her own cup.

_Of course it is_ , thinks Lily exasperatedly.

“Lovely,” Lily replies and takes a sip. At least it’s hot.

“How’s... Jared?” Petunia asks and Lily might slap her if she didn’t see how Petunia actually searched her memory for the right name before asking.

“ _James_ is fine,” she says with only the slightest hint of emphasis. “He’s in the Auror program now. It’s very difficult but he’s managing well,” she says, knowing full well they will have no idea what an Auror is.

“Is he becoming a... Seer?” Petunia asks, hesitantly.

Lily snorts accidentally, tea almost coming out her nose and she hastily covers it with a small cough.

“No, it’s the Wizard Police,” she explains.

“I see,” Petunia says, fingers clenching around her cup. “And you? How are you doing?”

“Fine, thank you,” Lily answers politely. “I’m working to become a Healer.” She very nearly launches into an explanation of all the wonderful things she has been learning but seeing the thin line of Petunia’s mouth and the red rising in Vernon’s face, she bites her tongue and asks about Petunia instead.

Pleasantries well over and done with, Lily finally breathes in and asks what she came to ask in the first place.

“James and I are getting married,” she says.

If she expected congratulations, she would have been disappointed, but luckily Lily knows her sister and has come to expect nothing less than what she gets. Petunia’s face becomes even surlier, if possible, and her hand makes an aborted move.

“I see,” she says, setting her cup down.

“Yes,” Lily says, also setting her cup down. Almost immediately she wishes she hadn’t as she now has nothing to hold. “I want to, that is to say, I was hoping you would come,” she says, stumbling a little of the words. “To celebrate with me.”

“Ah,” Petunia says and looks down on her thin hands.

“It’s in February,” Lily goes on, looking between Vernon and Petunia who’re both sitting stiffly and refusing to meet her gaze.

“It’s a little fast, isn’t it?” Petunia asks, still not looking at her.

“We don’t think so,” Lily says. “Besides, in these times…” she trails off.

“What?” Petunia asks. “What times?”

Lily looks at her pleadingly but Petunia just frowns.

“There’s a war,” she says, haltingly. “People are getting killed every day.”

“KILLED?” Vernon booms and Lily jumps.

“Yes,” Lily answers after a second. “The ones who don’t agree with-“ Lily only hesitates for a second, deliberating how to explain, but it’s enough for an interruption.

“Your sort, then?” Vernon says, rudely.

“And your,” Lily says, trying to keep the anger from her voice.

“Why us? We aren’t involved in your stupid politics!”

“They don’t care,” Lily says heavily. “They kill Muggles for sport.”

“They kill _what_?”

“Muggles. Non magical people.”

“But that’s preposterous! We’re normal!” Vernon yells, as if his sheer volume will be enough to convince Lily.

“It’s reality. Everyone’s doing what they can to help the opposition. I really urge you to be careful. Don’t draw anyone’s attention. Don’t go out alone. Don’t stay out at night.”

It looks like the mere idea of doing any of these things anyway is a revolting idea, and Lily breathes a little easier knowing her sister is unlikely to be a target.

“Is it safe for you to be here?” Petunia asks suddenly, sitting up straight.

Lily hesitates. In truth, no one is safe anywhere anymore.

“I took precautions getting here,” Lily replies.

“Good, I don’t want the neighbours talking.”

Lily says nothing to this. She doesn’t know if she’s serious, if she really cares about the neighbours more than the safety of her own life. She thinks Petunia is using her worry for appearances as a cover for her worry of a Wizarding war she can’t do anything to protect herself against.

“So, will you come?” Lily asks. “To the wedding?” she adds on when both Vernon and Petunia look blankly at her.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to mingle with… _your sort_ if there’s so much danger as you’re saying. And I rather think it rude of you to ask.”

Lily opens her mouth to protest, to say they’ve taken precautions, that only their closest friends and family will be there. Seeing the look on Petunia’s face though, she closes her mouth again.

“I understand,” Lily says and gets to her feet.

“You do?” Petunia asks, sounding surprised, then more resolutely she adds, “Good, yes.”

“I’ll see myself out,” Lily says and walks out into the hallway. “Thank you for the tea,” she says at large to the room before hurrying out the door.

Before the door shuts, she can hear Vernon saying to Petunia, “Your family is very strange. Good riddance if they manage to off some of each other.”

Lily Disapparates as soon as she dares, a block away. She doesn’t bother stopping by at Arabella’s.

~o~o~o~o~

The knock on the door is as unexpected as it is welcome. Hermione closes her book in disgust, ignoring the quiet wail it lets out at the rough handling - nothing helpful in there whatsoever. She marches over to the door and checks the peephole. She is surprised to see Lily standing there. She unlocks the door quickly, disengaging the protective charms and throws the door open.

“Lily!” she says as Lily looks up at her, a tense, almost angry expression on her face. Lily marches in, stops a foot from Hermione, looks at her for a quick second, and then throws her arms around her. “Oh,” Hermione says softly as the girl buries her nose in the crook of Hermione’s neck. Gently she pats Lily’s back.

“I’m sorry for bursting in on you,” Lily says into her neck, a slightly muffled sound. “I didn’t know where to go. James is off at work and-” her words are cut off and Hermione thinks she can hear Lily swallow.

“It’s all right,” Hermione reassures her, guiding her inside, closing and locking the door with a wave of her wand. “Let’s sit down and talk about it.” When Lily disengages from Hermione and sits down on the offered seat on the sofa, she wipes at her eyes, almost looking angry at the tears. Hermione busies herself getting some tea ready while Lily composes herself.

“Thank you, Hermione,” Lily says, voice wobbling a little as Hermione hands her a cup, and Hermione is struck again by how _young_ she is. This adolescent witch, with green eyes just like Harry’s, and anger and regret etched on her features in equal measure. A fierce protectiveness rises in Hermione’s chest.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hermione waves it away.

They sit in silence for a little while, sipping their tea and ignoring the small sniffs coming from the occupant on the sofa. Eventually Lily clears her throat and sets her cup down on the coffee table. Hermione hurriedly does the same, looking at Lily.

“Hermione, I was going to ask you,” Lily begins and then falters a little. “You’re allowed to say no, and I understand completely if you do,” she adds, putting up a hand to express herself. “I’ve just been so grateful to have you these past couple of months… this year, rather. Wow, times go by quickly. We’ve… become friends, haven’t we?”

Hermione unexpectedly feels her heart constrict.

“Yes, I’d like to think so,” she answers, voice rather thick.

Lily smiles at her, still quite watery.

“Good, yes I thought so, too.” They smile at each other. “I’m… well, I’m getting married, as you know, of course,” Lily continues. Hermione nods, glancing at the delicate ring Lily is fiddling with. “And we’ve postponed the wedding for some time now, but… with everything going on, we rather thought we should make it official.”

“Oh,” Hermione says, gathering quickly what Lily is getting to. “You’ve planned the wedding!”

Lily looks red, but soldiers on.

“Um, well, yes. Kind of. We’ve set a date and everyone’s working on the arrangements, but…” she cuts off. “Well, I, er…” Lily squeezes her fingers together, skin becoming white under the pressure. “I was hoping you’d be my maid of honour.”

The words are out. Not rushed or wavering, but bold and steady. Lily looks at Hermione with her incredibly green eyes, exactly like Harry’s, and Hermione swallows.

“Of course, Lily,” Hermione says, not bothering to stop the tears running down her cheeks now. “It would be an honour.”

Lily smiles exuberant and jumps up, throwing her arms around Hermione.

“Thank you,” she whispers into Hermione’s hair.

Hermione hugs her back. She can feel slight tremors going through Lily’s body as she squeezes her. She can’t help but think about everything that led to this moment. She wonders who was maid of honour in the original timeline. She wonders if something important was meant to happen that won’t. She wonders if Marlene McKinnon was supposed to have the place Hermione has now taken. She wonders, for the thousandth time, if they’re doing the right thing. She hugs Lily closer.

~o~o~o~o~

“Have you asked him yet?” James asks, pulling off a silk tie and throwing it into the pile of discarded items.

Sirius lounges on James’ bed, flipping through a Quidditch magazine. There’s a poster fold-out of the Beater duo from the Puddlemere United. One of them has black hair and a smile which promises secrets. Sirius lingers a little on the broadness of his shoulders before flipping to the next page. An article on Puddlemere’s chances in the upcoming game.

“Oi!” James calls to him, tossing a shoe at Sirius’ head.

“What?” Sirius asks, blocking the shoe with the magazine. He regrets it when the magazine is left with a black shoeprint from James’ excessive polishing. “Eurgh,” he says, wiping the smidge unapologetically on James’ bedcovers.

“Have you asked him yet?” James repeats.

Sirius immediately remembers why he didn’t want to talk to James and attempted to distract himself with handsome Quidditch players. No luck.

“No,” Sirius mutters and opens the magazine again.

“Why not?” James asks, the bastard he is.

“Maybe ‘cause I can’t find him?” Sirius snaps.

“Just ask Lily,” James says most unhelpfully. “She keeps in regular correspondence with Hermione and she says the two of them, Harry and Hermione, live together.”

Sirius stares unseeing at the ad for cleaning supplies. They live together.

“Sounds like they got it all figured out then,” Sirius says robotically. “Good for them.”

James, understanding where he went wrong, pops down on the bed next to Sirius, forcing him to move aside lest he be crushed by James’ newly gained bulk.

“No, not like that. Lily tells me they’re just friends.”

“Well, if _Lily_ says it,” Sirius replies snottily. He’s not quick enough to dodge James’ whack over the head this time. Luckily, he’s holding a glove and not a shoe.

“She asked Hermione to be maid of honour,” James says, a slightly odd expression on his face. 

Sirius looks up briefly.

“I didn’t know they were that close,” Sirius says, and James shakes his head.

“Me neither, but I think… I think Lily might be a bit lonely sometimes. I mean, when I’m out with you guys… She hasn’t really been close to anyone since…”

They don’t say the name. They hardly think the name.

“And since Marlene died,” James hesitates. “She’s mostly been hanging out with me.”

Sirius goes back to his magazine. It’s upside down. He doesn’t bother turning it right. James plucks it from his hands and tosses it to the floor.

“You should ask him,” James says, unusually looking straight into Sirius’ eyes. “Don’t let this stupid thing between you ruin what can be something special.”

“Ew gross,” Sirius says, but it’s weak and lacks his usual joviality.

“I’m serious, Pads.”

“I’m-”

“Shut up,” James says, but his lip twitches in a repressed smile. “Just ask him.”

Sirius huffs and looks up at the ceiling. 

“Fine,” he relents, not looking at James. “I’ll ask him.”

The owl which swoops into the room soon after forces Sirius to break out of his sullen mood. James tries to catch it, but the owl avoids his hands and lands gracefully at Sirius’ feet. It hoots once and lifts its leg.

Sirius gives James a surprised look, but James only shrugs and motions for him to go on, so Sirius bends forward and detaches the letter strapped to the owl’s leg. The owl gives another soft hoot, and flies out the same way it came.

“What’s it say?” James asks at once.

Sirius reads the letter through once. And again, when the words fail to register. 

“My father’s dead,” he says finally, dropping the letter on the bed. 

“What?!” James asks, astonished, and picks up the abandoned letter and reads it through quickly.

“Yeah,” Sirius says, laying back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Happened weeks ago, according to the bloke who investigated the body. Food poisoning, they say.” Sirius huffs. “They’ll have had the elf’s head, no doubt.”

“Blimey,” James says, looking stricken. He, of course, knows there is no love lost between Sirius and his family, but he nevertheless looks at a loss for words, probably wondering what the right course of action is.

“Don’t sweat it,” Sirius says, letting him off the hook. “I reckon the world’s a better place without dear old dad in it.”

“I s’ppose,” James says.

There is a short silence while at least Sirius is thinking about the many times and ways in which Orion Black had let Sirius know he was a disappointment to the family. 

“I think I’mma go meet Harry,” Sirius says abruptly, startling James.

“Wha-?”

“I should ask him now, as _someone_ keeps telling me,” Sirius says with a glare at James. 

“But-”

Not letting James finish his no doubt worried questions about how Sirius _is_ or how he’s _feeling_ , Sirius jumps off the bed and, as calmly as he can, walks out.

“Just- “James calls after him, sounding worried. “Let me know if you need me!”

Sirius doesn’t answer but raises his hand in acknowledgement.

~o~o~o~o~

The pub is dimly lit and smells of stale beer and sweat. There’s a flipper game in the back making intermittent beeping and whirring noises, flashing obnoxious lights. There are quite a few patrons around the small round tables and still a few more hanging by the bar. 

Harry sweeps the room. Muggles. Unconcerned and unaware of the dangerous times, just enjoying a Thursday night with their mates. He’s unsure why Sirius asked to meet him here, but he’s pretty sure he would rather meet at a Muggle locale than a Wizarding one.

By the bar sits a man alone, nursing a drink with an umbrella and straw. Harry can see the other patrons glancing at him, keeping a wide berth. Harry feels a sharp tug in his heart at the look of misery on Sirius’ face. He walks over.

“Sirius,” he begins, and Sirius jerks up and looks at him.

“Harry!” Sirius exclaims loudly. He’s more inebriated than Harry thought. “So glad you could come!”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry says and pulls up a stool, sitting down next to him. “How are you?”

“Good, good!” Sirius says. “Splendid! How are you?”

“I’m well, thanks,” Harry says, looking at Sirius as he attempts to locate the straw with uncoordinated lips and tongue. “What’re you having?”

“A drink!” Sirius exclaims unhelpfully. “Wait, I’ll get you one.” He turns to the barman who’s regarding them both with deep suspicion and distrust. “Barkeep, one more round for me and ma’ friend here.”

Harry tries to give the bartender an apologetic shrug, but the man has already turned to mixing drinks, surly expression unchanged.

“Do you live nearby here?” Harry asks Sirius as they wait. It hits him like a punch to the chest when he realizes he doesn’t know where Sirius lives.

Sirius peers up at him with a head tilted to the side and down. Slowly a salacious smile grows on his lips and he leans forward.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Harry tries to fight down a blush as Sirius attempts to wink at him. 

“No! I just meant-”

Sirius draws back and accepts their drinks.

“I know what you meant. S’fine.”

He hasn’t finished his first drink when he pulls the new glass to himself and, after having mistaken the umbrella for a straw and clumsily locating the real straw with his tongue, pulls deeply from it.

“‘S good, this Muggle stuff,” he says, his s:es coming out slurred and drawn out. Harry looks down on his mouth as he says it. “You should try it.” 

Harry accepts his drink and sips carefully. It’s awfully strong. He wonders how many Sirius has had.

“It’s good,” Harry says when he notices how Sirius is regarding him intensely.

“Liar,” Sirius says. “It’s terrible.”

He doesn’t notice as the bartender passes them just then, giving Sirius a nasty look.

Harry shakes his head.

“Then why are you drinking it?”

“Wanned to try new things… Dick sucker.”

Harry is glad isn’t drinking just then because he manages to choke on nothing, and coughs violently.

“What?!” he wheezes.

Sirius is grinning at him. “‘S what’s it’s called. Dick sucker.”

Harry peers down on the drink with renewed suspicion.

“And how are you liking it?” he asks, voice a bit hoarse as he stares at Sirius who has a smirk on his face like he knows what Harry is thinking.

“I’ve had better.”

“Oh,” Harry says, looking down.

A small thump makes him look up again. Sirius seems to have planted his elbow in the drink and has his head bent over the counter, moaning quietly. 

Harry reaches over, concerned.

“Are you all right?” he asks, but more moaning is all that greets him. Making a decision, Harry pulls up a few quid, putting it on the counter, and then he pulls Sirius up, shuffling his arm over his shoulder and guiding him out of the pub.

“Wha’r you doin’?” Sirius whines at him but Harry just drags on, ignoring the stares they’re garnering.

“I’m taking you home,” Harry tells him as he opens the door and manoeuvres Sirius out through the narrow frame.

“Don’ wanna,” Sirius murmurs but he sounds much less convincing now. “Wait-” he says with a new quality and Harry stops. “Gotta-” he begins but doesn’t have time to finish before he bends over right by the outdoor ashtray and pukes onto the pavement. A couple of patrons standing there and smoking jump back in alarm. Harry doesn’t feel much too concerned with them as they mutter something angrily and go back inside.

“There you go,” Harry says, holding Sirius’ hair back and patting him on the back gently. “Get it all out.”

“Ghh,” Sirius replies.

Once finished, Harry quickly realizes that even a sober Sirius might not want to show him where he lives, and a drunk one might not be able to. Instead, sighing internally, he rights Sirius as much as he can, getting a tight grip around him, and turns on the spot.

Getting sucked through a tight pipe of vacuum isn’t fun on a good day. Doing it drunk can only be worse. Which is why Harry forgives Sirius for immediately bending over as they’re released from the Apparition and pukes again. It sounds mostly like empty gags this time, and Harry sympathizes. 

He’s relieved he managed to take them so close to home, though, and he helps Sirius gently up to the door to the apartment building. Confronted with four flights of stairs, he’s forced to pull out his wand and, with a quick apology to Sirius, cast a Feather-light charm. Sirius wails loudly as he’s suddenly hoisted from the ground, his grip on Harry growing incredibly strong.

“Sorry about this,” Harry mutters and carries Sirius up the stairs.

He allows the wards to fall away to let them in, and opens the door. Inside, Hermione is watching the telly and knitting a scarf. She jumps up when Harry stumbles inside with Sirius.

“Harry!” she calls, rushing towards them. “What happened? Who attacked you?”

She’s casting diagnostic spells as she’s speaking, and Harry manages the first smile in a while to graze his lips.

“Nothing but a flashy drink and bad judgement,” he tells her, and guides Sirius into the flat and sets him down on the couch. “Don’t worry, he’s fine. Just drunk. Would you mind getting me a Sober-Up Potion from the kitchen?”

“If you wanted me on my back, all you had to do was ask,” Sirius says, sounding moderately more coherent now.

Hermione juggles through a couple of retorts, but in the end she just smothers a smile, nods and leaves.

“You are more trouble than you’re worth,” Harry says exasperatedly without meaning a word of it. He conjures a glass and produces water with a silent _Aguamenti_ which he hands over to Sirius, who scoffs.

“Do I look like the kind of person who drinks water?” he asks, flapping his hand expressively.

Hermione comes back with the potion which she hands to Harry.

“How bad is he?” she asks quietly.

“Not bad enough to make me go deaf, witch!” Sirius hollers, much louder than she.

Hermione jerks and then snorts. Harry gives her a smile and gestures for her to go.

“I’ll take it from here.”

“I’ll take _you_ from here,” Sirius mumbles incoherently.

With another disparaging look at Sirius, she goes.

“Here, drink this,” Harry says to Sirius, helping him up to a sitting position.

“Smells bad,” Sirius says, peering at the potion with deep suspicion.

“It’s supposed to,” Harry replies.

“Why?”

“So you won’t want to drink it.”

“Why’s that?”

“So you’ll suffer from your mistakes and stop making them in future.”

“Sounds boring.”

“Will suit you fine then,” Harry says.

Sirius glares at him.

“You take that back. I am _not_ boring.”

“Prove it,” Harry says. “Drink it.”

Sirius looks sullen and, still trying to figure out the fallacy of the logic, gulps the sobering potion down with a grimace.

Harry waits, staring at Sirius, as the potion works its magic. He sees when clarity returns to Sirius’ eyes, when the memories settle in, and when realization dawns.

“Hi,” Harry says happily. “Back with us?”

Sirius groans and pulls his arms up to cover his face.

“Please tell me I just had a very life-like dream and that I’m still hallucinating, having this conversation with you?”

“Nope, sorry,” Harry says. “It all happened and I will treasure the memories for a long time.”

“You’re evil.”

“Only in moderate portions.”

“Can I please go to sleep and pretend this never happened?”

Harry considers him for a little while, Sirius squirming and refusing to meet his gaze. Finally, he takes mercy on him. 

“Yeah, all right.”

He gets up and walks over to their chest. From inside it, he pulls out an extra set of blankets and pillow which he carries back to Sirius. He ignores the whines of protest as he bundles Sirius up in the sheets, tucking him in.

“Sleep tight, Sirius,” he says and shuts off the light.

“G’night,” Sirius mumbles quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The full extent of my notes for this chapter was: Hermione cries when Lily asks her to be her maid of honour.  
> I had way too much fun writing drunk Sirius. I hope you like him as much as I do xD


	37. Stag Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In which shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long one, but it's light so I think you'll be okay :D

When Sirius wakes up it is to a splitting headache and a horrible crick in his neck. It’s much brighter in the room than it has any right to be and he can’t feel his arm. 

“Ghh?” he says to the room at large, wiggling to get free of the blanket-turned-prison.

“Good morning!” someone says, and Sirius flips so fast he accidentally flings himself off the bed.

He crashes onto the floor, hitting a table on the way, and comes face to face with a wooden flooring he doesn’t recognize. Not that Sirius takes great care remembering floors in particular, but this doesn’t ring any bells whatsoever. 

“Is he all right?” someone asks.

Sirius wants to protest the calm reply, ‘yes, don’t worry’, and say that no, he’s not all right. Everything hurts and he doesn’t know where he is or why he’s here. He groans quietly and lies still. Slowly memories from last night slip back into his memory. James’ insistence. The horrible news about his father… Meeting with Harry-

“Mmffh,” he says to the floor. 

Finally the blanket lets up its viselike grip and he wriggles out of the offending piece of bed-clothing. He gets up on all four and-- falls back onto his nose with a crash as his left hand won’t support him.

“Nnhh,” he complains as he has to start over.

He waits until the pinpricks in his hand and arm disappear, signalling his sense of feel has returned to the limb, before he tries again. This time he manages to sit up on his knees. He’s sitting next to a couch. No wonder he fell off, it’s so narrow!

As he looks around, he confirms to himself what he already knew. He doesn’t know where he is. It’s a sparsely furnished flat, small and with a feel of temporality to it. He can see a trunk pushed up against a wall, a pile of books functioning seemingly both as a side table and library going by the abandoned cup of tea balancing precariously on it. The coffee table he collided with on the way down from the couch is one of the few real furnishings in the flat, and it, too, looks to be transfigured rather than bought. 

“There’s tea if you can manage to get to the kitchen,” the unfamiliar voice calls and Sirius manages to discern the origin this time. Through an archway he can see into a small kitchen, cramped even further by the table and the two people sitting by it. Both of them are looking at him, one piteously and the other gleefully.

“Mmh,” Sirius responds and carefully stands up. “Bathroom?” he gets out and follows the pointed finger.

After relieving himself he faces himself in the mirror. His blood-shot eyes are staring back at him, with deep circles under them. It’s rather much the same as he expected. His hair’s a mess, standing straight up in greasy spikes. His stubble which he was so proud of when it first grew in, is itchy and demanding a shave, one he doesn’t have the motor skills or energy to perform right now.

He washes his face and tries to wrestle down his hair to something that looks less like he rolled around with a grindylow all night, but he is forced to give it up as a bad job when he manages little more than make the spikes more… spikey. He’ll deal with it later. He washes out his mouth and then braves the kitchen.

As promised, there's a steaming cup of tea waiting for him. He doesn’t bother with greetings but sits down and drains the cup.

“It’s hot-” Harry tries to warn him, but it’s too late.

“Fu-fu-fu-” he says as his tongue seemingly catches fire.

“Water,” Hermione offers him, and Sirius drains the glass.

“You’re a mess,” Harry says, looking torn between amusement and worry.

“Ith wath hoth,” Sirius explains, unnecessarily.

“Have a piece of toast,” Harry offers, consolingly.

Sirius’ stomach makes a gurgling noise and Sirius fights between hunger and nausea. Sensing his troubles, Hermione pushes a goblet in his direction. Guessing its contents, he gulps the potion down. Vile, but familiar.

“Thanks,” he mutters hoarsely at Hermione as his headache slowly melts away.

It’s good because now he can focus on his surroundings, and bad because he can feel the sense of shame and dread creeping in.

“Breakfast first, then a shower I think, and then we’ll talk,” Harry decides for him.

Sirius nods and begins chewing his toast. Hermione goes back to reading a newspaper and Harry leans back in his chair, gazing out the small window. It’s a grey morning and cold, going by the thin layer of frost creeping up the glass. 

There is silence with only the occasional interruption of Hermione turning a page in the newspaper and of Harry sipping his tea. Finally, Sirius has had his fill.

“I’m gonna-” he says, pointing behind himself towards the bathroom.

“Of course,” says Harry. “There’s a fresh towel by the sink you can use and a set of clothes that should fit you all right.”

Nodding his thanks, Sirius stands up on wobbly legs and leaves them to freshen up. They don’t say anything when he goes but he supposes they can wait two minutes until he hits the shower and the water drain out their words. He doesn’t bother trying to figure out what they might say.

The hot water is wonderful. The clothes are soft and smell nice. He steps out of the shower feeling like a new man. 

“Better?” Harry asks, and Sirius nods. “Good. Have a seat,” he offers, and Sirius notes the bedding has been removed from the couch. 

He pops down in the soft cushions and rather thinks he could sleep another few hours. He forces his eyes to stay open as he turns to regard Harry. His eyes are so freaking green.

“It’s good to see you,” Harry says.

Sirius feels the blood rush to his face and forcibly redirects his thoughts from their dangerous paths. He cuts his gaze away.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “You, too.”

“I was really glad when I got your invitation.”

“Mh,” Sirius says unhelpfully. 

“You said, last night,” Harry begins, a bit more tentatively. “You said you wanted to ask me something.” Dread pools in Sirius’ stomach. “What was it?”

Sirius looks stoically at the opposite side of the room. The wall is empty but for an ugly frame which appears to be empty of its occupant, and some scratches close to the floor.

“Sirius?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“What did you want to ask me?”

“Do you want to come with me to Lily and James’ wedding as my plus one?”

He’s asking the wall more than Harry, but he trusts Harry will answer anyway. And if he doesn’t, Sirius is sure he will simply shrink into nothingness, cease to exist, melt into the cushions…

“Um,” Harry says.

It’s an odd noise and Sirius wants to turn and look at him, see what his expression is. He keeps stoically staring at the ugly frame.

“I-” Harry says, but cuts himself off. “Do you want me to?” he asks, something strange in his voice. 

Sirius clenches his teeth. He looks over at Harry, just for a brief second, just to see what’s on his face, but he gets sort of-- stuck. Harry is looking back at him, green eyes intense and with an expression which is impossible to read.

“I want you to,” Sirius replies. “If you want to.”

The silence between them is thick with unsaid things. It’s only broken when a clatter from the kitchen makes them break eye-contact to check what it was. Hermione has bent to the floor to pick up a pile of notebooks and quills. She’s blushing furiously.

“Don’t mind me, just- just carry on!” she says in a high voice even as she drops another quill from her overfull arms.

Sirius turns back to Harry, fighting to suppress his own blush. He completely forgot about Hermione still being in the flat, and going by the chagrined expression on Harry’s face, he did, too.

“So you live together?” Sirius says, trying for a conversational tone.

“Yeah,” Harry replies. “We’re, er… working on a project together and we realized that once we got out of Hogwarts it was going to be hard enough trying to find the time to work on it, and with us both being homeless so to speak, and money being tight, it made sense…”

“Oh, okay,” Sirius says, suppressing the urge to offer Harry to stay at his place instead. Or just throw a thousand galleons at him so he could afford a bigger place. He hasn’t seen the whole place, but he guesses by the cramped spacing there isn’t more than one bedroom.

“How about you?” Harry asks.

“What about me?”

“Where’re you living these days? Hermione tells me you’re not staying with Lily and James…”

“Oh, er,” Sirius stutters, trying to quiet the crowing voice cheering that Harry has been asking about him. “I’m renting a flat in Westminster. Close to work and all.”

“That’s nice,” Harry says.

“Yeah,” Sirius says, studying a hangnail. “Anyways, Harry, I think I should be off.” He gets to his feet and walks towards the door. He hears Harry get up and follow. Just before the door, Sirius stops and turns, very bravely, to look at Harry. “It was nice seeing you again.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “Maybe we can do it again sometime?”

Sirius nods and looks down on his shoes.

“Tell him you’ll be his plus one!” Hermione yells from the kitchen.

Harry goes red and begins stuttering. Sirius bites the inside of his cheek and closes his eyes, listening for the excuses Harry will make.

“I’d love to be your plus one,” Harry eventually gets out through a myriad of false starts and stutters. 

Sirius opens his eyes and looks at Harry. He’s blushing but his eyes are meeting Sirius’ squarely. Slowly, Sirius can feel his spirits lifting and a small smile begins to fight its way onto his mouth.

“Really?” he can’t help but ask.

“Yes,” Harry says. “Very much.”

“Good,” Sirius says. “Yes, brilliant, splendid.”

“Brilliant,” Harry agrees.

Sirius’ smile grows until it becomes a grin and Harry grins back at him. A small chuckle slips out and Sirius tries to swallow it back down.

“Okay, good,” he says, unable to contain his grin.

“Yes,” Harry says, also grinning.

“I’ll see you then?”

“Yes,” Harry says again. “I’ll see you.”

“Okay, I’ll let you know the place and everything. I’ll send an owl to let you know. Or I could pick you up, but I’m gonna have to be there early, so maybe you don’t want to? I can just send you the information. Or do you want me to come and get you?”

“Yes,” Harry says, nodding eagerly. “I don’t mind.”

“I’ll come and get you?”

“Please,” Harry says.

“All right. I’ll see you then?”

“Yes, I’ll see you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Bye.”

Sirius steps out the door, still smiling and blushing and he’s feeling happier and more hopeful than he can remember ever feeling. He veritably skips away, heart aflutter.

~o~o~o~o~

“You are ridiculous,” Hermione says to him as soon as the door shuts.

Harry is too happy to care. He just smiles at Hermione and walks on floating feet to the couch where he collapses with a happy sigh.

~o~o~o~o~

“Are we sure this is such a great idea?” Remus asks as they walk towards James and Lily’s house in Godric’s Hollow.

Sirius grins and rubs his gloved hands together.

“Oh, yes, this is going to be brilliant.”

“I just mean, in these unsafe times, perhaps this isn’t the way-”

“Stop worrying, Moony! He’s gonna love it!”

Remus says nothing more but exchanges a strained look with Peter who shrugs.

The house is as picturesque as ever. Lights are flooding out of the small windows onto the bushes and flowerbeds, currently buried under a thin layer of snow. Remus can identify two porcelain garden gnomes waving cheerfully with still grins and glassy eyes. A small movement draws his eye, and he finds a third gnome, this one alive and very busy with pulling out what Remus is certain is carefully planted and cultivated pine bushes.

As they reach the gate and, unknown to the passing Muggles, the line of the warding, they stop. Peter, hidden by Sirius and Remus’ bulk, transforms into a rat and slides through the bars unseen and unheard by anyone. They watch his progress up to the door where he slips through the cat-flap. There is a soft click, and the door is unlocked.

Remus draws a steadying breath and opens the gate. The magic graces his skin in a gentle way and lets him through, keyed into the warding as ‘ _friend’_. 

Peter meets them inside, human again. There’s no light in the hallway, but they can hear soft voices coming from the sitting room. Peter presses a finger to his lips, nodding to the hat rack. On top of it lies a small cat, a kitten really, purring contentedly in its sleep.

“Traitors,” Sirius breathes, glaring at the cat.

“Oh, shut up,” Remus whispers, smiling. 

“No really, quite rude,” Peter whispers, giving the cat a slightly indignant look. “It could have _eaten_ me.”

“If you can’t outwit a common house cat you deserve to be eaten, Wormy,” Sirius says, and Remus must muffle a laugh.

“Come on,” he says once the urge to laugh has died away.

They perform disillusionment charms on themselves, quite bad ones since they’ve never had the need to practice.

“Peter, you’re practically just blurry,” Remus says. “Here,” he points his wand at Peter and redoes the spell. “That’s a bit better.”

“Let’s go,” Sirius says, and they all start walking toward the sitting room on light feet, Sirius in the front and Peter in the rear.

Lily and James are sitting on their couch, Lily leaning against James who has an arm around her. It’s such a beautiful and calm picture of love and trust that Remus feels bad for what they’re about to do. But it’s too late to change their minds.

With a roar, Sirius throws himself over James, catching him around his neck. As James screams, arms flailing wildly, Remus runs forward and pulls the prepared sack over his head. Peter pulls Lily off the couch, explaining in a quiet tone what’s going on.

“LILY!” James screams and tries to reach for his wand, but Sirius has caught his wrists and binds them behind his back.

“There’s no need to worry about her,” Sirius says in a dark, warped voice. “It’s you we want.”

James struggles another moment and then comes to a stillness. He cocks his head to the side and grunts.

“Pads?” he asks. “Is that you?”

Sirius looks at Remus who’s still attempting to bind the sack together. Remus grins and mouths: ‘told you’. Sirius rallies.

“No, it’s… not-Sirius,” he says with only a slight stutter and then he adds on a sound reminiscent of the Bloody Baron when he’s in a grumpy mood, “It’s _your worst nightmare!_ ”

“Is this the stag do?” James asks, completely ignoring Sirius’ theatrics. “Guys, I told you, Thursdays aren’t a good night since-”

“Well, Prongs, we couldn’t really take the day you suggested, you’d be prepared and that would ruin the surprise,” Remus explains.

“Shut up, Moony,” Sirius hisses. “I mean, shut up, you!”

Remus finally ties the sack together and pats James on the head good-naturedly.

“I think the jig is up, Pads,” he says consolingly.

“Only because you gave us away,” Sirius says, sullenly. “Anyways, Lils, we’ll bring him back in the morning. Don't worry, we’ll return him in almost as good a condition we got him. Although, you might want to take a picture to remember his pretty face by.”

Sirius whirls James around to Lily to pose, although the idea is slightly ruined by the fact that James’ face is completely covered by the bag Remus pulled over his head.

“Just go,” Lily says, trying to contain her giggles. “I’ll see you tomorrow, dear,” she says to James who whines.

“You aren’t even going to attempt to save me? Some spouse you’ll be…”

Under the laughter of his friends and fiancée, James is carried out of the house. Peter pulls the robes off the rack as they pass it.

Once outside, they stop so James can get dressed.

“All right, so what have you geniuses concocted?” he asks, slightly muffled.

“Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that,” Sirius answers airily. 

Peter giggles delightedly and Remus smiles.

“Don’t worry, it’s gonna be fun,” Remus says.

“For us,” Sirius adds in an undertone.

At the Leaky Cauldron they’re joined by Frank, Fabian and Gideon, Hagrid, and Harry. They put a set of antlers they got on an outlet in the Muggle area on James’ head; they have little bells and red bows decorating them, making James jingle merrily whenever he moves. The others are entertained by it but don’t really understand the significance, which, to the Marauders, makes the whole thing ten times funnier.

They begin with a drinking game of two truths and a lie, and have everyone in stitches when, time and time again, the stories from Fabian and Gideon get more and more outrageous. Even the Marauders’ adventures pale in comparison to the mischief of the Prewett brothers. Hagrid, believing the best of everyone, is forced to drink more than all of them combined, but his enormous bulk gives him leeway as he outdrinks them all and remains the most sober.

Once everyone is pleasantly tipsy, they move on to challenges. They play a game of darts where the darts are made of billywig stingers, which are notoriously bent. The board is also not a board as much as it is a participant who must evade the throws. Whenever the thrower can’t get the stinger onto the ‘board’, they have to change places with the current target.

Sirius, who rather fancies himself an excellent shot, promptly misses Peter who dodges so fast Remus is half convinced he transformed into a rat until he sees him crouching behind a table. 

Sirius reluctantly switches places with him and then takes a hit directly to his chest by Harry who shrugs and smirks. Next is James, who nonchalantly places a stinger in Sirius’ throat with a lofty throw. Next is Remus who considers missing on purpose. Sirius seems to sense his musings and glares at him.

“You had better aim like you mean it, Moony, and I’ve seen you aim dungbombs!”

“On your funeral be it!” Remus calls and tosses the stinger. It looks like it will falter, but Remus put a twist on it, and Sirius’ crow of laughter turns into an indignant squawk as the dart soars straight into Sirius' ankle.

“Oh, boy,” says James as Sirius smiles a little goofily and, in an almost by-the-way sort of way, leaves the floor to levitate a couple of inches off the ground.

“We knew where this was going the second he picked up a stinger, didn’t we?” Remus says, amused as Sirius takes another stinger to the face and floats up another inch or so.

The other patrons who watch the proceedings with growing enjoyment soon join in. Now it’s not just their friends aiming poisonous darts at Sirius, but an elderly hag, a sullen-looking vampire, and someone Remus is certain must be a half-troll, going by the smell.

Peter flees into the bathroom when one of the more shady-looking patrons leers at him. He doesn't return for half an hour, and Remus makes a note to go and collect him if he isn't back by the time the game changes.

Sirius floats higher and higher, and soon he’s doing somersaults and pirouettes in the air to the cheering of their large audience.

When James starts growing worried about Sirius’ health, they agree it’s time to move on to the next game. He soon comes to regret it when Fabian calls out: “Shot roulette!”

Tom the bartender shuffles out with a tray of shot glasses, each containing liquid of a different colour and consistency. Remus grimaces in sympathy as Tom puts the tray down in front of James.

“The rules are simple,” says Sirius who is holding onto a beam not to float away as he speaks. “You drink and we guess whether it’s alcoholic or not.”

“What happens if you guess right?”

“Another round!”

“And if you guess wrong?”

“Another round!”

“Perfect logic,” James says, and everyone cheers. “Is it just me drinking or…?”

“You get to pick a player to rival you, and the winner is the one who remains standing when we’ve gone through fifty shots!”

“I see,” James says, scanning the crowd. “Then I choose…” he looks at Hagrid who is standing sturdy as ever, Remus who, with a wolf-metabolism, is doing quite well, Sirius who is on the tip of floating away already, Fabian and Gideon who are grinning eagerly, and finally lands on- “Harry.”

“Ooohhhh!” the crowd cheers as Harry, looking moderately surprised, comes up and sits opposite James.

Tom provides a second tray, setting it in front of Harry, who looks at the shot glasses with curiosity. 

“Are the rules clear to everyone?” Sirius yells at the ceiling.

“YES!” roars the crowd. 

“Are you ready?” Sirius yells at the opposite wall.

“YES,” yells James and, with a second's delay, Harry agrees.

“Then on your mark, ready, set, goooo!”

James and Harry both take a shot. James grimaces wipes his mouth. Harry coughs and out comes a cloud of acid coloured smoke.

“Alcoholic!” yells half the crowd.

“Virgin!” yells the other half of the crowd.

“It is…. VIRGIN!” calls Sirius.

The losing members of the crowd boo and drink their butterbeer. The winning members cheer and drink their butterbeer, as well.

Next is James who takes his shot and immediately burps out a long tongue of fire, sending Harry to scramble backwards to avoid the heat.

“Alcoholic!” screams the crowd. 

James nods, looking embarrassed. Harry picks up his second shot and downs it. A second later he begins to giggle uncontrollably. He covers his mouth with his hands but still the giggles break through.

“Alcoholic!” the crowd yells again, but Harry shakes his head, still giggling.

“Virgin!” confirms Tom the bartender.

“Another shot!” demands the crowd and Harry appeases them by taking up another glass and downing it.

A second later, there is no longer a Harry sitting there, but a large beaver, showing off its large teeth to everyone. With a _pop_ the beaver vanishes and Harry returns, looking startled.

“Virgin!” calls the crowd and Sirius blows a horn which Remus isn’t certain where he got a hold of.

James takes up his third shot, downs it, grimaces and spits it back out. The crowd boos again, but quiets down when the table starts fizzing and melting away by the acid liquid. Then they cheer.

And so the game continues. Remus, by the time Harry downs his twenty-third shot, still isn’t sure he understands the rules, but the purpose seems clear. James stands up the victor (probably), and promptly falls sideways as a fallen bowling pin.

The crowd picks him up, hailing his victory and singing a dirty version of Odo the Hero. Harry joins them but ends up leaning so heavily on Fabian, the man ends up grabbing him and heaving him up over his shoulders in a fireman’s grip. Remus groans in sympathy when the move tips Harry over the precarious line of fun-drunk to time-to-stop-drunk and he pukes out at least four rounds of shots over Hagrid’s thick boots, murmuring in apology.

Tom eventually throws them out, saying there’s not enough gold in Gringotts to make him clean up another round of ‘them sorry arses’. Remus tries to apologise to the man but he’s not sure he makes himself understood as he’s overcome by the urge to neigh like a horse every four seconds.

Out on the street, Frank, Hagrid and the Prewett brothers take their farewells, dispersing with the rest of the patrons. Fabian gently hands Harry over to Remus, saying: ‘he insists on staying ‘till the party’s over’. Remus nods his thanks and pats Harry on the shoulder.

He is vaguely conscious of the fact that they’re walking, his legs and feet feeling oddly disconnected from his body. He’s sure they’re supposed to be doing something more, but he can’t for the life of him remember what it is. It is, therefore, a surprise when they end up in front of the closest Tesco’s. 

Sirius is still floating an inch or so above the ground, but he manages a decent charade of walking with only slightly suspiciously graceful wobbles every once in a while. He holds up a hand when they see the red-blue sign of the shop, shining in the otherwise dark street.

“Friends and fellow Marauders,” he says ceremoniously. “We have arrived at the final task of the night’s festivities. Prongs, our brother, has proven himself a worthy husband of Lill- Lylli- Lilsy, but the final test has yet to be passed. Prongs, it is time for you to show you can _provide_ for your wife.”

“Yesh!” James calls. “Provide!” The call echoes through the empty street eerily.

“You must enter the shupp- chop- shop,” Sirius continues, “and sh-teal a loof- loaf of brid- bread. Do you understand?”

“Bread of steal I must loaf!” James repeats dutifully.

“Hear, hear!” calls Remus.

“To challenge you,” Sirius continues as if he didn’t hear. “A challenger will challenge you. So ‘tis a challenge, see?”

“Challenge!” Harry calls cheerfully.

“Yeah, challenge!” Sirius confirms. “Since I am junge- judd- judge, I’m ruled out. Moony is a moon, I mean, he hasn’t got a moon, so he is out-” Sirius explains.

“Moon!” Peter calls out, helpfully.

“It leaves Peter-”

“Peter!” Peter calls happily in agreement, and then looks shocked. “What?”

“He agrees!” Sirius calls triumphantly. “You will franstorm into your Manigamus and go into the shupp and loaf a bread of steal. Is everyone clear on what to do?”

James nods solemnly. Peter is looking around as if searching for a different Peter. Harry has sat down on the street, looking half-way asleep. Remus considers joining him, but he thinks he’s supposed to do something. He’s not sure what, though. Still swaying from foot to foot, trying to remember, the game begins.

James gets a concentrated expression on his face.

“He looks like he’s going to poop his pants,” Harry says cheerfully from the ground.

“Immediate dis- disfafilication if any poops is found in pants!” Sirius declares pompously. Then he blows his horn.

James transforms into his stag and Peter disappears. No wait, he’s a rat, Remus realizes, finding Wormtail on the ground. James staggers a few steps, trying to get his four legs to cooperate, and then takes off at an unsteady trot towards the shop.

“You gotta follow him,” Sirius says down at Wormtail, shooing him after James.

Peter squeaks and scuttles off, but his direction is off. He starts off running in the approximate direction of the shop, but slowly and surely he sways off to the right, and finally he collapses in a small pile some ten yards away from the door. A few seconds later they can hear the tell-tale sounds of snoring.

“And Wormy is out of the race unless he wakes up soon!” Sirius yells into the horn like he’s holding a megaphone, commentating a Quidditch match.

Remus follows James with his gaze. The automatic doors whoosh open as the stag stops in front of them. Remus hears a quiet giggle and looks down to see Harry looking at James, too.

“He’s a stag,” Harry says to Remus’ questioning look. “At his stag do,” he says, sounding delighted. 

“Yeah, I think that’s the joke,” Remus says, but he can’t help but snigger, too.

James has entered the shop and seems to be having trouble with the slippery floor. His hooves keep slipping out from under him and he looks like he’s performing an intense step-dance routine. He has reached the dairy by the time the cashier notices him and comes running, screaming loudly enough for them to hear, and waving his arms.

Prongs approaches the cashier who suddenly looks afraid and starts backing away. Prongs keeps walking, staggering and slipping but nonetheless progressing towards the now terrified shop assistant.

“Does it count if they’re caught but still manages to steal the bread?” Harry asks.

“I don’t know,” Remus says.

“I wish I had a camera so I could take pictures of this,” Harry sighs wistfully.

“Photos!” Remus yells, startling the others. Finally remembering what his job is, he rummages through his robes in search of his camera. When he finds it, it’s slightly wet and looks to be missing a few pieces. “Do you think it’ll still work?” he asks no one in particular.

“Maybe…” Harry answers, uncertain.

Remus pulls out his wand and aims it at the dripping camera.

“Reparo,” he says sternly to the object. He’s gratified when the camera flops a little in his hand and becomes dry and whole.

He quickly lifts it up to his face and snaps a picture of Sirius who has pulled up Peter by the tail, inspecting the rat. He’s still floating but the substance seems to be wearing off as he must jump up from the ground every other step.

He aims another shot at James who is attempting to pick up a loaf of bread with his muzzle. The shop assistant has retreated behind the registry and appears to be calling someone on the telephone. Another shot at Harry watching the proceeding with a huge grin on his face.

“This is great,” Harry says.

“I think Wormy is officially out of the race,” Sirius says, returning to them while stuffing the rat into his robes. “He’s breathing but not much else.”

“I think Prongs might win then,” Remus says, snapping another picture of James as he comes trotting back to them, bag with the bread clenched between his teeth.

“We should run though, before the police show up,” Harry tells them, and sure enough, in the distance they can hear a siren going off.

“Congratulations, Prongs!” Sirius says, clapping the stag on its flank. “You’re officially ready to get married!”

And then they run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE DRUNK MARADUERS I HEARD YOU SAY xD


	38. Union and Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff ahead! :D

“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony!” Hermione says and slams the door in James’ face.

“Wha-” he begins but it’s no use. He can hear the light churn of a lock clicking into place.

“Go do something productive!” he can hear Hermione yell through the door, the sound slightly muffled.

“Productive…” James mutters, turning to leave. “Productive…”

“Prongs, my man!” Sirius yells coming through the door at a gallop. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean ‘what am I doing’? I’m getting ready for my wedding. Which is today.” Even as he says it, his mouth is twitching into a smile and his heart does a leap in his chest. “And when did you get here?” he adds. “I half expected you to show up after it was all done, bleary-eyed and confused.”

“I happen to have woken up four hours ago, and I just got here.”

James studies his friend, notes his combed hair, alert eyes and general springiness. Yes, he can believe that. He just wonders what has caused it.

Suddenly it dawns on him, and he smirks.

“Did you bring Harry?”

Sirius clears his throat. James notes the red crawling up his cheeks and hides a grin in his sleeve.

“Yes,” he says without further comment. “And your parents are down in the kitchen waiting for you.”

“What? What for?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sirius says drolly, inspecting a hangnail. “Some drivel about expressing how proud they are and how much they love you. You know, some nonsense like that.”

“Git.”

Sirius grins. Then he puts a hand on James’ shoulder, sobering. James gets a feeling of trepidation as Sirius opens his mouth.

“Prongs, I got a letter from Moony this morning,” he begins, and James’ insides grow cold. “He said he won’t make it. Unexpected trouble at the camp, couldn’t say more. He says he’s really sorry and that he wishes he could be here.”

Something tastes bad in James' mouth. He swallows.

“Okay,” he says finally.

Sirius meets his eyes, and something is exchanged between them. Something unspoken and too horrible to contemplate.

Sirius squeezes his shoulder.

“He says he trusts we’ll manage to get up to enough mayhem even without him,” Sirius goes on, grinning. James can see the strain behind the smile, but he ignores it and smiles back, thankful he has Sirius with him.

He claps Sirius on his back and then drags him with him down to his parents. 

~o~o~o~o~

“Is he gone?”

Hermione listens with her ear pressed against the door. She hears Sirius and James speak and then their fading steps.

“Yes,” she says, and turns back to Lily. She is dressed in white robes with delicate cutting and green details which make her eyes pop gorgeously.

“Oh good,” Lily says and turns back to her vanity desk. “Now listen to this,” she says and reads out loud her vows for the fourteenth time today. Hermione listens with a chagrined expression. If she had to guess, she would have said that Harry got his procrastinating traits from his dad, but, as it turns out, she would have been wrong. “What do you think?” Lily finishes.

“I think they sound perfect,” Hermione says firmly.

“Really? Not too mushy?”

“Definitely not. Besides, if you can’t be mushy on your wedding day, when can you be?”

Instead of looking reassured, Lily’s eyes fill up with tears. Hermione rushes to her side and Lily throws her arms around her.

“I’m s-so glad you’re here with me today,” Lily sobs into Hermione’s robes. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you-”

Hermione bites her lip. She doesn’t know what she should say. If things were different, Hermione wouldn’t be here at all, and Lily would have, at least today, been fine. Happy.

“Don’t be silly,” Hermione says. “You don’t need anyone,” she says and adds, before Lily can interject, “and I wouldn't miss this for the world.”

Hermione pats her gently on her back, carefully avoiding the hairdo. Lily keeps sniffling. Finally, she dislodges her nose from Hermione’s robes and peers up at Hermione through slightly red eyes.

“Do you think I’m making a horrible mistake?” 

“Wha-a?” Hermione asks, shocked. “What do you mean?”

“Marrying James,” Lily says, and looks down. “Is it stupid?” She bites her lip, still gripping Hermione’s robes.

“Why would you think that?” Hermione asks carefully.

“I don’t know,” Lily says miserably. “It’s not,” she says, then, “it’s not,” more firmly. Hermione says nothing, waiting. “It’s just-” Lily bursts out. “He’s so- so _James_!”

Hermione stifles a laugh.

“I rather thought that was the point?” she asks slyly.

Lily blushes, and Hermione can suddenly see why James enjoys riling her up so much when the red in her cheeks make her hair look fiery and her eyes almost glow.

“It is,” she mumbles. 

“Then what’s the problem?”

“It’s going a little fast, isn’t it?” she whispers.

“Are you doubting you want to marry him?”

“No.”

“Do you think you’ll change your mind tomorrow? Or a year from now? Fifty?”

“No.”

“Then, no, I don’t think you’re going too fast.”

When Lily looks up again, the doubt is gone, and her eyes are sparkling. It’s reminiscent of when Harry wins a Quidditch match. Pure joy. Hermione suddenly feels very sure herself. If for a second, she doubted whether Lily should marry James, despite knowing them to love each other from eyewitness accounts, both past and present, it vanishes now.

She puts a stray lock back in its place and turns Lily around to the speech.

“Now, you’ll have to memorise these vows. Should be a breeze and, if all else fails, speak from the heart.”

~o~o~o~o~

Harry opens the door and almost has a heart-attack upon seeing something red streak through the air and then land in his face.

“Aargh!” he yells and pulls the cat off. “Crookshanks?” he says surprised, but he quickly realises that of course it’s not. This must be a different cat, a much smaller one.

He has barely had time to dislodge the clingy cat before something steps around the corner and spots him.

“If I’m not mistaken, they call him Lyon,” says the man, coming up to greet Harry. He has black hair like Harry’s, and it even stands up in an untameable way he recognizes all too well. “I always figured my son for a dog-person myself, but what do you know.” The man smiles widely as if sharing a joke with Harry. “I don’t believe we’ve met?”

“Er,” Harry says eloquently. He stares and probably gapes. This is- it must be- his _grandfather!_

“I see,” says the man, frowning slightly. “I pride myself on never forgetting a face but perhaps I’m mistaken. Was it perhaps at the last Quidditch World Cup? Lots of people I hadn’t met before… No? Well, it might have been the Ministry Ball. I don’t often go myself anymore but every now and then my wife drags me there and I’m afraid I rather managed to drink more than usual. If I met you anytime past ten o’clock-”

“Monty!” comes a voice from behind him, and Harry, who had just managed to close his mouth, is forced to gape once more. His grandmother, because it can be no one else, is a stately witch with black hair whirling around her face in wild, large locks. She is dressed in burgundy red robes which flare out dramatically as she marches up to ‘Monty’ and puts a hand on his arm. They exchange some sort of silent communication, and then she turns to face Harry with kind brown eyes. “I’m sorry,” says his grandmother kindly. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Euphemia Potter, mother of the groom.”

“Er,” says Harry again.

“Sorry, lad!” Monty says with a chagrined expression. “I’m Fleamont Potter, father of the groom. I thought we had met all of James’ friends… so you must be Lily’s friend?”

“I- no, I’m Sirius’-” Harry begins, forcing words to form, but he doesn’t have time to finish. He’s not sure what he would have finished the sentence with. ‘Sirius’ plus one’ sounds an awful lot like his date, and while _technically_ it is true, he’s not sure how Sirius would feel if he knew Harry went around introducing himself as such.

“Oh!” says Mrs Potter delightedly and not caring in the least that Harry trails off. She seems to come to her own conclusion, however. “I didn’t know Siri was dating someone. How wonderful!”

“Er,” says Harry helplessly, cheeks burning. “I-“.

“It’s really nice to meet you, son,” Mr Potter says, cutting across Harry’s stammering and shakes his hand vigorously.

“We were just about to have a spot of tea while we wait for our son. Would you care to join us?” Mrs Potter offers and guides him to the kitchen. “What’s your name, young man?”

“Harry,” says Harry and only just manages to cut off ‘’Potter’ at the end. “Jameson.”

“Oh, a good name!” Mr Potter exclaims. “My father went by Harry. I’ve always favoured it.”

Harry tries to take in everything he sees. He has only ever been here once before and then only from the outside. It was also destroyed. He shakes off the thought and peers at the photographs depicting various combinations of Lily and James, the Marauders, Lily’s parents, James’ parents, all of them waving merrily at Harry.

“So,” says Mrs Potter as Mr Potter takes out another cup of tea and places it in front of him. “Tell us how you met Siri!” Harry watches the teapot pour him a generous serving as a way of distraction, giving himself a second to think.

“We met through school,” he says finally. At least it is true he met Sirius at Hogwarts.

“Sugar?” Mrs Potter offers.

“Sorry?”

“Milk? In your tea, dear.”

“Oh,” says Harry, rather flustered, “Some milk, please.”

The little pitcher of milk springs into action, hopping as fast as it can over to Harry. Well there, it waits, quivering slightly, until Harry lowers the cup and allows the pitcher to jump up and pour its contents into his tea.

“That’s lovely,” Mrs Potter says, sounding delighted at this very small piece of information. “Are you also in Gryffindor?”

Harry, who is just then taking a sip of his tea, a wonderful honey-smooth flavour, almost chokes in his hurry to answer.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, eyes watering slightly.

“I thought as much,” she says, sounding very knowledgeable. “You have that look about you.”

“Look?” Harry enquires.

“Yes, something around the set of your jaw…”

Suddenly she pauses and looks at Harry more closely. Panicked, Harry ducks behind his cup of tea and casts around for something to say.

“Do you live close by?”

Mrs Potter is still looking very closely at him, so it is Mr Potter who answers.

“Plymouth,” he says with a certain twist of his lips. “We have an old family home there but now that James is getting married and settling down here in Godric’s Hollow… Well, we’ve been discussing moving. To be closer.”

“Oh,” says Harry who thinks about having parents willing to up and move in order to be closer to their son. “Have you decided yet?”

“Ah, not yet. We’ve still got a few engagements back home but,” he pauses and gives Mrs Potter a sweet look. “It would be worth it.”

Mrs Potter finally lets up her intense staring and meets Mr Potter’s eyes. Harry watches in fascination as her face becomes even kinder, eyes crinkling with laugh-lines and cheeks scrunching up into well-worn wrinkles of smiling.

“It would indeed,” she says.

Harry who suddenly feels a great deal as if he is intruding, takes a sip of his tea. He finds a spot on the table with a mark which he takes up staring at.

The moment is interrupted by a great thundering of steps from the stair and all three of them look up. Down the stairs come James and Sirius running at great speed, appearing to be battling the other to an unseen goal.

“Mum! Dad!” James yells and throws himself into his parents’ waiting arms. “I’m so glad you made it!”

“What are you talking about son?” Mr Potter says. “We wouldn’t miss your wedding if the entire Wizengamot descended upon us!”

“You said that about my first Quidditch match, too,” James says, but his grin is betraying him. He eyes the room and spots Harry. “I see you’ve met Harry,” he says, breaking away from his parents to come greet Harry. “Harry, good to see you,” he says and shakes Harry’s hand and claps him on the back in welcome. “These are my parents.”

“Nice to meet you,” says Harry who only just then realizes he forgot to say that.

“Likewise!” Mr Potter says, winking at him, and again Harry gets the feeling of being invited to share a private joke.

“The pleasure is ours,” Mrs Potter adds.

“It’s nice to see you’ve managed to catch yourself such a polite young man,” Mr Potter says to Sirius who, until then, was sneaking biscuits from the biscuit jar. Upon Mr Potter’s words, he rounds on Harry with eyes the size of saucers, a look of panic on his face.

“It is, isn’t it!” James says with a huge grin on his face. Harry is rather sure that the cough-attack he gets a second later, is disguised laughter.

~o~o~o~o~

At two o’clock they’ve all gathered in St Jerome’s church. Flowers decorate the benches and fairies are floating high in the ceiling, giving the large room a misty, unreal sort of feel.

Peter is scratching distractedly at his high collar. James is standing in a cold sweat, gripping his wand tightly enough to risk breaking. Sirius carefully steps up to him and grips his shoulder.

“You all right, mate?” he asks in a quiet voice. 

Rather than answering, James gives a jerky nod. The guests are sitting in the benches, twittering amongst each other in low voices. 

Sirius spots Hagrid in the back, taking up an entire bench to himself, and the Prewett brothers, Caradoc Dearborn, Edgar Bones and Dorcas Meadows sitting spread out, pretending not to know each other. Frank Longbottom is sat up at the front of the left side, mostly having eyes for his wife, who is stood alone on the side of the bridesmaids, Hermione being with the bride.

Sirius feels something thick in his throat when he sees Moody and Edwards lining the wall, staring around suspiciously. Well, Moody is. Edwards is staring up towards the chancel with a speculative look.

Without thinking about it, Sirius glances towards Harry, standing in Remus’ place between himself and Peter. He is fiddling with his wand and has a rather blank expression on his face. Sirius swallows.

When he came down to the kitchen earlier today with James, for a moment he felt like he was seeing double. There was Mr and Mrs Potter and James, sitting at the breakfast table having tea; a perfect day, a loving family. Then Sirius blinked and the vision changed back. It was Harry, with his black, wild hair and uncertain expression. Not James. 

Even now, Sirius feels as if he’s seeing something else as he looks at Harry. He could be James’ brother. Vaguely he remembers joking about it when Harry and Hermione first showed up in their dorm. How alike they are. 

Over time, though, Harry has grown to be his own person and Sirius hardly thinks of them as similar anymore. Harry is such an individual person, so different from James in manner, his way of speaking and thinking and… _being_. So why then, Sirius thinks, is he suddenly seeing now the features of James in Harry? Is it because of Mr and Mrs Potter, when standing next to Harry, making the resemblance too pointed to ignore?

Shaking his head, Sirius looks back out at the guests. Mr and Mrs Potter are smiling, murmuring between themselves. When Mr Potter catches Sirius looking, he grins and winks at Sirius. Like a warm blanket around his heart, Sirius smiles back.

Then the officiator steps out from the sacristy and takes her place. Sirius gives James a reassuring smile and shoves him gently to stand in the right spot. Then the organ starts playing and the guests rise as one. 

~o~o~o~o~

As if through a daze, Harry watches his mum walk down the aisle, led by none other than Albus Dumbledore. Lily is mesmerising in her white robes and a glowing smile bright on her face. 

Behind her walks Hermione in light blue robes. She, too, is smiling when she spots Harry at the front. She is sprinkling white flower petals from a little basket, but the petals don’t just land on the floor; they dance down the aisle in front of Lily and Dumbledore, performing twirls and pirouettes in an entrancing pattern. 

When Lily reaches the front, James takes her hand, bowing deep to kiss it. His smile is dazzlingly wide. Then he places her hand on his arm and walks her the last steps up to the officiator who smiles warmly at them.

The ceremony goes by in a blur. Harry is vaguely aware of the officiator, James and Lily speaking. He notes several people wiping their eyes and blowing their nose. At one point, he is sure Sirius gently bumps into his shoulder. Mostly he is focused on Lily whose face he can see and who looks adoringly up at James. He vows secretly, again, that this time, he will protect them. He never notices the tears running down his face.

After the ceremony is finished, the group collectively walks back to the Potters’ house. Harry isn’t surprised this time when the Memorial Statue doesn’t transform as he passes it. Just as the house isn’t blown to bits and no plaque of commemoration appears as they pass the gate up to the house. He blinks to chase away the ghosts.

Deliveries from Madam Puddifoot’s and Madam Rosmerta allows for a gluttonous afterparty full of foods, drinks and puddings in abundance. Everyone eats and drinks until they can’t anymore and then they dance.

Lily and James begin on the magically enlarged living room floor to music so beautiful Harry gets teary-eyed. When the first song ends, Mr Potter takes over and dances with Lily and Mrs Potter swings around with Dumbledore. Peter asks Hermione to dance who hesitates for a long second before agreeing. Harry dances with Dorcas Meadows who he hasn’t really got to know yet, and then with Mrs Potter and then somehow ends up with Gideon Prewett.

Then, everyone forgets to dance for a while as James and Sirius take over the dancefloor with a self-choreographed thing with so many twists and turns the guests are in uproarious laughter by the end of it. Sweating and grinning wildly, James goes for another dance with Lily.

More drinks are passed around and Harry notes in a distant manner that guests are saying their thanks, giving their best wishes and taking off. 

Feeling absolutely exhausted, he goes to sit in a calm corner of the room, sipping a cool glass of gigglewater. Between small bursts of chuckling, he looks on as Sirius attempts to break-dance and almost manages to take down the gift table. After a moment, someone comes up next to him. He suspects it to be Hermione, but he realizes as he turns to greet her, it’s Mrs Potter.

“Do you mind if I join you?” she asks and sits down next to him when he shakes his head. “I love a party, but my knees can’t take it at my age,” she says, and massages said parts.

“Oh,” Harry says, unsure what to say in response. “Sorry?”

“It’s not your fault,” Mrs Potter says, amused. Harry says nothing to this.

They sit in comfortable silence for a bit. Over in a corner, James is feeding Lily Bertie Bott’s Beans. Harry snorts when Lily chews one, pauses, grimaces and spits it out in James’ hand.

“True love,” Mrs Potter says, smirking, obviously having seen the same thing as Harry.

“Yeah, I s’ppose,” Harry says, feeling warm and content.

“What about you, young man?”

“What about me?”

“I notice you haven’t danced with your man even once this evening,” Mrs Potter says, looking significantly over at Sirius who has given up his break-dancing career for the benefit of harassing the band with wild gesticulating hands. “Any particular reason?”

“Er,” Harry says, feeling himself go hot in the face. “Look, Mrs Potter, I might’ve given you the impression we’re more, er, _together_ than we actually are. He just asked me to come to the wedding, that’s all.”

“I see,” Mrs Potter says without any inflection. Harry attempts to quell the sense of shame welling up inside him. “And why do you think he asked you?”

Harry looks over at Sirius, his heart fluttering a little at the memory of being asked to be his plus one. It hadn’t felt like a platonic thing, but the idea of seeing Sirius as anything other than _godfather_ and _forbidden_ , sends a strong stream of panic through his chest.

“I don’t know,” he mutters.

“Oh, I think you do,” Mrs Potter says, and Harry can hear the smile in her voice.

“I might have an idea,” Harry mutters, face practically on fire now.

“So why haven’t you danced yet? The music is soon going out…”

“He hasn’t asked me, has he?” Harry says, evasively.

Mrs Potter mutters something which sounds suspiciously like “boys”.

“He asked you here, didn’t he? Don’t you think it’s your turn to be the brave one? You did say you were in Gryffindor, didn’t you?”

Feeling bolstered by this, Harry looks over at her. Her warm, brown eyes are encouraging him in such a reassuring way, he can’t help but smile. For a wild moment he wishes he could just tell her, just blurt out the words, _I’m your grandson!_ , just to have her keep looking at him like this, like she cares. Like she cares about him, what happens to him, what he’s feeling. He swallows back the impossible words.

“Yeah, I reckon you’re right,” he says. He looks down surprised when she pats his hands.

“You have your mother’s eyes, you know,” she says, and it takes Harry a full three seconds before those familiar words register in his brain as wrong somehow.

“Wha-” he asks, half getting out of his chair, but Mrs Potter shakes her head with a calm smile.

“Don’t fret, Harry. I won’t tell anyone.”

“But-” Harry stutters. “How-” 

“I have eyes,” Mrs Potter says, a twinkle glinting in said eyes. “And a brain. Although I don’t fancy myself clever enough to work out how it’s possible, I can’t deny what’s right in front of me.”

Harry marvels at this, staring at his grandmother - _who knows who he is!_ The thought is dizzying.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t say anything,” he offers weakly, but she just squeezes his hand and shakes her head. 

“Don’t be sorry. I’m just so very happy to have met you,” she says.

“Does Mr Potter…?”

“I think he might suspect, but even so, he will keep your secrets.” 

Harry can’t express everything he wants to say in this moment, so he just stares at her. Mrs Potter seems to understand; something very soft comes into her eyes and she pats his cheek with a soft, warm hand.

“There you go,” Mrs Potter says as the music changes to something soft and slow. “Your chance.”

Still feeling uncertain, as if he should say something more, ask something, he nods.

“Thank you, Mrs Potter,” he says and stands.

“Good luck, dearie,” she says and waves him on.

~o~o~o~o~

Sirius thanks the band as they start up the ballad, and turns around. He locates Harry, still talking with Mrs Potter, a strangely intimate expression on both their faces. Doubting himself for the fortieth time tonight, he straightens his lapels and marches over.

“Good luck, dearie,” Mrs Potter says to Harry who smiles and turns towards the dance floor.

“Hi,” Sirius says as Harry comes face to face with him.

“Oh!” Harry says, surprised. “Sirius, hi,” he says. “I was just coming to talk to you-”

“Would you like to dance with me?” Sirius asks before he has a chance to change his mind. It’s not exactly eloquent and half-way through the question he realizes Harry was saying something which he probably should have answered first. Oh well.

Harry looks startled, which is better than angry, so Sirius counts it as a success. Then Harry smiles, which is a definite positive.

“Yeah, I would, definitely,” Harry says.

“Great!” says Sirius.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees.

“Brilliant,” Sirius says.

“Brilliant,” Harry repeats.

They stare at each other for a moment, and then break out in nervous chuckles. Sirius offers Harry his arm and guides him out on the floor. He wonders where he should put his hands, wishing they weren’t so clammy.

“Er,” he says, and tries not to feel like a twat as he gently puts his hands on Harry's shoulder and waist. “Is this all right?” Harry nods and copies him, a shy grin sitting adorably on his face. 

They move to the gentle waves of the music, nothing more than slight swaying from foot to foot. Harry’s skin is soft under his hands.

Remembering suddenly that he actually knows how to dance, he catches Harry’s eye and then, carefully, guides him into a twist. Harry’s eyes widen but he follows easily. When he comes back into Sirius’ arms, they’re closer than before. Harry’s breath is warm, and he can feel it on his face.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” Harry whispers, and a shiver travels down Sirius’ spine.

“I’m full of surprises,” Sirius says in a low voice, trying to sound sultry, but it just seems to come out hoarse. Harry grins and blushes.

“I believe that,” Harry says.

“I’ve wanted to ask you to dance all night,” Sirius confesses. He finds it hard to meet Harry’s eyes as he says this.

“Oh,” Harry says, and when Sirius peeks up to see his expression, there’s a pleased smile adorning his lips. Sirius gets rather distracted then, with Harry’s lips. They’re red as Harry bites them. They look very biteable.

“Yeah,” Sirius says. It’s easier now that he knows Harry won’t laugh at him. “Really.”

“I was just coming up to ask you to dance actually,” Harry confesses, and Sirius’ heart does a jolt.

“Yeah?” he asks, barely daring to breathe.

“Yeah, Mrs Potter gave me the courage I needed.”

“Did you need courage?” Sirius asks, despite the thousand butterflies wreaking havoc in his chest. “Am I that scary?”

Harry looks at him, his green eyes sparkling.

“You have no idea.”

~o~o~o~o~

Hermione watches Harry and Sirius dance close together to the soft music, barely a breath away from each other. Lily and James have snuck away. Mr and Mrs Potter have retired to the guest room. The other guests have gone since a while. 

She sighs. She heard, of course, from the others that Remus couldn’t make it, but if she is honest with herself, and she always tries to be, she hoped that he would show up at the last second and surprise them. Her.

She collects an unopened bottle of nettle wine, smirking mirthlessly at the reminder, and sneaks out. Outside the February chill is setting in for real and she pulls her cloak more securely around herself. She considers going back inside to collect her scarf but decides against it. She checks her surroundings for witnesses and, when she finds no one, casts a Feather Light charm on herself and climbs on to the roof.

The night is cloudless, and she can see all the stars in the black night sky. She amuses herself with locating the constellations she spent so many hours memorising in Astronomy. When she grows bored of it, she starts making up her own. Her imagination is rather dry, and she pops the bottle to the nettle wine and takes a deep pull on it in the vague hope it will help.

It does very little, but at least she feels a bit warmer.

She has gone through about half the bottle and is really starting to see the funny thing in constellations when she hears someone climbing up the wall. It’s probably Harry. She supposes she should have told him where she was headed, but she didn’t want to interrupt when he looked so… busy.

“Did you finally gear up your courage and kiss him?” she asks, sipping the wine.

“Who?” someone who definitely isn’t Harry answers. She chokes. Remus is just straightening up from the climb and looks at her, surprised.

“Sorry,” Hermione mutters, drying her mouth. “Thought you were Harry.”

“Oh,” Remus says and smiles a small, mischievous smile. “They did look cosy all right,” he confides.

“Thought as much,” Hermione agrees. “Wine?” she offers and holds out the bottle. A little late she realizes she hasn’t got any glass to pour him any. She wonders if she should bother wiggling out her wand from beneath her cloak. He looks thoughtful for a second and then walks up to her and takes the flask. He lifts it to his mouth and drinks.

“Nettle?” he asks as he hands back the flask.

“Was closest,” Hermione confesses with a shrug.

“Ah, then it’s all right I suppose.” He sits down next to her. “Aren’t you cold?” he wonders, critically taking in her cloak. He himself is wearing a traveling cloak, a thick scarf, a hat with ear flaps and mittens.

“Wine,” Hermione responds, and sips said wine. The liquid is cold, having grown even more so in the outside temperature, and she shivers as it travels down to her stomach. Soon, however, the alcohol makes it warm again.

“Ah,” Remus says, but looks slightly concerned nonetheless.

“We didn’t think you were coming,” Hermione says. “Some business at the camp.”

Remus grimaces.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Months of negotiations and they decide today is the day to hold conference. I couldn’t very well just up and leave. Not when Dumbledore is counting on me.”

“It’s a useless endeavour,” Hermione mutters and drinks. The bottle comes away empty. She shakes it a little upside down to check but only a few drops come out. Sighing, she puts it down. It wobbles a couple of times and falls over before rolling away.

“You think so?” Remus asks, a new quality to his voice. 

“As long as Greyback’s alive, we’re not getting the werewolves' allegiance. And those we do get won’t live to see the next full moon.”

She’s saying more than she should, but she can’t keep her mouth shut. She is still angry with Dumbledore for attempting it. Angry that it's no use. Angry that it must be Remus. Angry in general.

“You’re very well informed about the werewolf diplomatics,” Remus says.

Hermione scoffs. She grips around air, forgetting the bottle is gone.

“It’s not complicated. The guy’s a psychopath.”

Remus hums, though in agreement or not, Hermione can’t tell. Something warm covers her left side suddenly and she startles. Remus has sat down right next to her. 

“You don’t mind?” he asks, and she shakes her head slowly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here. Not just because I missed my best friends’ wedding, but also…” he hesitates and looks at her. “Also because I really wanted to dance with you.”

“Not a lot of reasons to dance these days, is there?” Hermione says, looking sideways at Remus. 

“No,” Remus agrees, staring at her. 

“You didn’t answer my letters,” she says, almost reluctantly. She doesn’t want to ask, but it’s burning a hole in her chest. She needs to know.

Remus looks pained.

“I’m sorry. I was being an idiot.”

“I doubt it.”

“I was.”

“And you’re not anymore?”

“I hope not,” he says quietly.

“Prove it,” she dares him, staring at him.

He meets her gaze, not blinking or turning away. Then slowly, so slowly she’s not sure he’s moving at all, he leans forward. Her breath quickens. Not even an inch away from her, he pauses, and she almost groans.

“Are you-?”

He doesn’t get to finish.

She leans forward and captures his lips. He sucks in a breath of surprise, which soon turns into a moan. She licks into his mouth, tasting his sweet breath, pressing herself as close as she can get. His hands come around her back to pull her even closer. She can feel the barest trace of stubble on his chin, scratching her face. She rubs her own cheek against it, drawing pleasure from the rough.

She rolls on top of him and begins unrolling his scarf to get at more skin. Soon she leaves his mouth to go down to his chin, his throat, right over his pulse. She pulls on the skin and enjoys the deep voices of pleasure she draws from his skin. 

“This is madness,” he whispers hoarsely when she pulls his cloak open to suck a bruise into his skin.

“I’m a little bit mad,” she says and dives back down. His chuckle turns into a cry and then a moan.

Hermione hesitates when she comes across a new scar. It’s a slash right over his chest, three long lines of red, barely healed skin. When she touches one of them with trembling fingers, Remus hisses.

“He did this, didn’t he?” Hermione asks.

“Let’s not talk about him,” Remus says, pulling her hand away.

Hermione considers arguing. The slashes are like a sign, flashing at her in red, mocking her inability to do anything, to protect him. Her teeth are chattering as she looks up and meet’s Remus’ eyes. He’s looking at her carefully, pupils blown wide, but with a wary expression.

“No,” Hermione agrees finally. “Let’s not talk about him.” She bends down and claims his mouth again.

The air around them is icy cold, but the skin touching hers is scorching hot, and she gets as close as she can. They move together, hidden under their heavy cloaks. His fingers dance across her skin and wherever he touches her, the spot burns as if she has been branded.

_Don’t you dare leave again_ , she thinks desperately, pulling him closer. As if he hears her, his grip becomes almost painfully tight and he kisses her deeply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter. I realize that fluff really isn't my strong suit. I nevertheless hope you enjoyed this. I bet none of you expected Euphemia do be the first person to figure it out ;D (also, how amazing are the Potters, because seriously they sound like just the loveliest people and I couldn't deprive Harry a chance to meet them.)
> 
>   
> [Also, because the picture is being uncooperative, here's the link to it.](https://raziella.tumblr.com/post/642397782703063040/insp-and-i-looked-back-on-a-broken-world)


	39. Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which something is confirmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank you all for your lovely comments - they absolutely make my day. Thank you!! <3 <3

When Sirius rolls out of bed the next morning, he is at first not aware how things are wrong. His head pounds, he’s feeling sick, and he has got to take a leak, badly. This is all normal after a night out. Once he has taken a cold shower - his neighbour is a jerk, don’t ask - and drunk a Hangover potion as well as three cups of coffee to get his shuddering under control, he starts thinking about the night before and slowly things settle into place.

His best mate got married! A weak smile struggles to make its presence known on his lips. Finally, he thinks fondly, the lucky bastard finally did it.

There had been food and drink and music and-

Harry.

Scrambling to get his bearings, he hobbles back into his bedroom, but, as he suspected, it’s empty. He would have known if someone was there. Still, the hopeful part in his heart droops to some point below his navel.

He danced with Harry, so close their breaths were one and the same. They didn’t kiss, because… Well, because Sirius is a cowardly coward who cowarded. That’s why.

He pulls his hair and groans into a cushion. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

And things were looking so good! Harry, with his stupidly beautiful green eyes and that stupid grin promising something special and those stupid hands being all warm and soft. Stupid!

~o~o~o~o~

When Harry wakes up the next morning, it is to a pleasant feeling of contentment. He is warm and comfortable, and something smells amazing. He doesn’t question this, burrowing his nose into the nice smelling something. It is only when the something shifts, throwing an arm over Harry, that Harry realizes it is a _someone_. 

Sleepily he peels one eye open and finds himself in a dim bedroom he doesn’t recognize. Before panic has time to creep in, he spots the face half-way buried by a pillow, and a mane of black hair. Sirius.

Something squeezes his insides in a not entirely unpleasant way. Hardly daring to breathe, he considers his alternatives. Remain in bed with Sirius - the thought sends an electric chock through his body - and wait until he wakes up. Then, spend the morning together, eat breakfast and- talk. Undoubtedly Sirius will have questions; questions which Harry isn’t ready to answer. 

His other alternative is to sneak out. Just leave without a word and burn the last bridge between them, because surely if he does this, there is no way Sirius will ever trust him again. The idea is… not good.

As Harry considers, Sirius mumbles something in his sleep. Harry doesn’t know if he has ever been able to watch Sirius from this close before. Against his better judgement, he leans closer. Sirius is the handsomest person Harry has ever met. His high cheekbones, straight nose, long dark lashes, and full lips… they all make for an attractiveness which shouldn’t be allowed. This close, however, Harry can spot the small imperfections, can see the pores, the soft hairs, even a small birthmark under his chin, and all this makes Harry find the man stupidly even more attractive.

“You are the most aggravating person I’ve ever met,” Harry says quietly to the sleeping man.

Sirius doesn’t say anything to this of course, but he snuffles a little in his sleep. 

Harry has just decided, against all better judgement, he is going back to sleep, when silvery mist appears in the room. He immediately recognizes Hermione’s otter Patronus.

“Tracking him. Join when you can,” says the otter in Hermione’s voice, before vanishing into thin air.

Harry doesn’t have to wonder what this is referring to. There’s only one person they currently need to track, and it’s not Regulus.

Looking back at Sirius regretfully, Harry carefully eels his way out from under the arm keeping him captive, and gets out of the bed. 

He makes a quick stop in the bathroom before he goes. He’s still wearing his clothes from last night, but they smell a bit sour now and they’re awfully wrinkly. He doesn’t know many cleaning charms, and while he feels rather grubby, he doesn’t think it’s enough for Tergeo to do anything but hurt him. Hesitantly, he casts _Scourgify_ on himself and yelps when the spell violently scrubs him clean. He has an itch under his wand-holster which only grows worse, though, and when he lifts it slightly to peer at the skin underneath, he finds it’s red and irritated. Apprehensively, he pulls the holster off and washes his arm before strapping it back on.

His hair, which was rather a mess before the charm, now looks worse than ever. He half-heartedly tries to comb it down with his fingers. It helps very little, but it will have to do.

He steps into the bedroom one more time to check on Sirius. The man hasn’t moved since he left, but he grumbles something when Harry gently pats his hair.

“‘Mh?”

“It’s all right, sleep,” Harry says. “I’ll see you later.”

“Hmm,” Sirius says, incoherently.

Smiling a little regretfully, Harry steps out of the flat before he Disapparates.

~o~o~o~o~

Hermione turns around when she hears the faint _pop!_ indicating Apparition. As expected, it’s Harry. She looks at his dishevelled hair and robes, and smirks.

“Did you have a nice time?” she asks in a low voice. Harry colours, and uselessly tries to flatten his hair. “Can you bring your cloak?” she then asks, getting to business.

Harry pulls the Invisibility Cloak into existence and drapes it over the two of them.

“Where are we?” Harry asks under his breath.

He’s right to ask. Squatting behind a set of recycling bins under several Notice-Me-Not and Muggle Repelling charms, she knows she makes for an odd sight. Or not sight, as it were.

Rather than answering, she nods towards the café across the street. From her spot, she has a rather good view of the patrons, a pair of which they both know rather well.

“Remus and Peter?” Harry breathes as he spots the pair sitting by a small table close to the window.

“Some sort of post-nuptials party. Perhaps you can explain the absence of Sirius?” she asks, grinning when Harry’s flush deepens. 

“Why would they schedule a brunch the day after a wedding?” he asks. “Wouldn’t they guess they’d be tired?”

“It’s past noon,” Hermione informs him, grin growing.

Harry grumbles something very low which she can’t hear.

“Why’re you looking so happy then?” he asks, and then raises his eyebrows when she blushes. “Oh,” he says, sounding both surprised and impressed. “ _Hermione_ ,” he says, a grin growing on his face, as Hermione’s face grows hotter. “You didn’t say!”

“Oh, shut up,” she mutters, trying to sound disgruntled, but her smile betrays her.

“Did you make up then?” Harry asks, settling into a more comfortable position to watch the pair across the street. They seem to be in for a wait.

“We didn’t really do a lot of talking,” Hermione murmurs.

“Hermione!” Harry whispers, sounding scandalized and delighted. “You vixen!”

“Like you’re one to speak,” she counters, indicating his wrinkly robes.

“Er, yeah, about that,” Harry mumbles, grabbing his robes self-consciously. “We didn’t really… do anything.”

“No?”

“No, we just talked,” Harry says, looking down on his hands.

“About?”

“About what we’ve been doing for the last few months. Work. Housing. Annoying neighbours. Stuff like that.”

“Really?” Hermione asks, doubtful. “You spent an entire night together, making small-talk?”

“We talked about other things, too,” Harry says, sullenly. 

“Like what?”

“Motorcycles, brooms. You know, transport.”

“Transport?”

She can feel her voice quivering and she must have made some sort of face, because Harry goes even redder.

“Shut up,” he says and goes back to staring at their target.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You implied things.”

“I didn’t!”

“Never mind.”

They are silent for a while. Neither of them is very proficient at lip-reading, and they are a little too far away to be able to do it anyway. So they mostly watch Remus drink tea, saying things to Peter, whose back is turned to them. After a while, Harry starts shifting. Hermione can see him scratching his arm, a tic she has grown increasingly used to seeing. She wonders if she should mention it, but finally decides against it.

“So,” he begins after another minute of staring. “You and Remus, huh?” Hermione bites her teeth together to stop the defensive answer which threatens to pour out. “Did you spend the night at his place?”

Stiffly, Hermione shakes her head.

“I took him back to our place, actually.”

She’s not sure what she expected, but the soft exhale from Harry, with an almost inaudible ‘huh’, goes a long way to settle her down.

“I think he usually bunks with Sirius, actually,” Hermione explains. “When he’s not off on missions. Which is most of the time.” 

She can’t quite stop the bitterness from seeping out. They’ve talked endlessly about it, about the necessity, but no matter how important the werewolf connections are to keep stable, she can’t help the voice in her chest saying, screaming really, that someone else should do it. Not Remus.

Harry seems to understand anyway, as he puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes gently.

He is just about to say something more when she spots something, and holds up a hand.

“They’re leaving.”

And indeed they are. Peter drops a few pound notes on the table and pulls his cloak on. Remus is doing the same. They stop right outside the café and say a few more words to each other. Then, they embrace quickly and depart, going in opposite directions.

“Come on,” Harry says, and stands up.

They follow Peter under the cloak, not bothering to keep a very large distance. They can’t be seen and, with the bustle of the Muggles doing their Sunday shopping, they’re afraid of losing him.

It’s lucky they do because, just then, Peter veers off sharply to the right and they’re forced to shuffle their way between two families who look around in confusion, in order to catch up. The find the alleyway and step into it.

“Do you think he transformed?” Harry mutters under his breath, but Hermione shakes her head. 

There, up ahead behind a dumpster, they can just make out Peter turning on the spot, Disapparating.

“Quickly!” Hermione calls, and they rush forward.

She only just manages to grab a hold of the magic remnants quickly dispersing in the air, and, taking a firm grip around Harry’s forearm, she twists on the spot, following the trace left of Peter’s Disapparition.

It’s such a faint trace that for a moment she wonders if it’s too weak, if they’ll be squeezed through this tube of no air until they run completely out of breath and just vanish into nothingness. 

Just as panic is starting to choke her, the squeezing feeling lets up and she pulls in a gulp of breath gratefully. She takes in their surroundings and realizes they’ve left the bustle of inner-city London. Instead, they’ve landed in a narrow lane between two quaint houses.

“Where are we?” Harry asks, also looking around. Out on the street, a rather generous name for the road lined with houses similar to the ones they’ve landed between, only a few people are out and about.

“I’m not sure,” Hermione says, “but let’s follow Peter and find out,” she adds, spotting the only figure in robes, and points. Peter is making his way up a small path to a house almost completely hidden by trees, overgrown grass, and wild bushes.

Straightening the Invisibility Cloak, they set off up the path after Peter. Different to the city climate of London, out here, there’s snow covering the ground, making their trudge rather more difficult since they have to make sure to only step in the path already walked, for fear of revealing their footsteps. Hermione sends a non-verbal warming charm around them when her teeth begin to chatter.

“Good thinking,” Harry mutters, relief clear in his voice.

When they’re about fifty paces from the house, they encounter a small resistance.

“Oh,” says Hermione.

“It’s warded,” Harry confirms. 

They remain standing just outside the perimeter of the warding for a moment, considering their choices. 

“Perhaps we should wait until he comes back out?” Hermione suggests, ignoring her rumbling stomach.

“Maybe,” Harry says, sounding thoughtful. “Or, maybe…” he says vaguely and stretches out a tentative hand in the air. 

There is a slight shimmer in the air and the resistance vibrates for a moment and slides away.

“Harry, what-” Hermione begins.

“He really never was very clever,” Harry says with a weak grin. “I think my dad, I mean James, must have helped him set this up. It doesn’t recognize me as a threat, or my blood.”

Choosing not to comment on this, she, along with Harry, stalk up the rest of the way to the house. Peter has gone inside. Hermione regards the snow-covered garden critically before casting a light levitation charm on the both of them. Immediately, they’re off balance. She grabs hold of Harry’s arm to stop herself from toppling over, and he grips her back just as tightly.

“Did you have a plan for this, or-?” Harry asks, sounding strained. It takes a second for her to realize he’s trying to hold back laughter.

“Sorry,” she says, stifling her own giggles and cancels the charm. “Thought we’d levitate around the house to look inside.”

“You do realize both our Animagus forms are birds, don’t you?”

“Oh,” Hermione says, chagrined. “Although I hardly think Phoenixes are native to this part of the country. You can’t just fly around like an enormous red and gold magical bird, Harry.”

“No,” Harry agrees. “But an eagle can.”

She nods and closes her eyes. She finds her inner eagle and feels herself transform. The tingle all along her bones makes her shiver. She becomes lighter, smaller, and- much too low to the ground. Just as she’s about to spread her wings and take flight, Harry catches her on his arm. She gives him a stern look; her talons are very sharp.

“Yeah, sorry,” Harry mutters. Then he points his wand at her and murmurs a Notice-Me-Not charm. “There, have a look around,” he says and lifts the cloak to let her out.

She soars up and takes a lap in the sky, breathing in the chilly air and feeling the restraints of worry and impatience melt away. Far below, the little house seems insignificant along with the youngster who inhabits it. 

She takes another lap, this time sweeping over the little village and along the treeline of the forest behind the house, before she dives. She can’t resist a little twirl at the end, before she rights herself and takes aim on a tree branch close to the house she’s supposed to be watching. Her sensitive ears pick up Harry’s amused chuckle carried on the wind. 

“Come on, what do you see?” Harry whispers, and she ruffles her feathers and gets back to her mission.

From her branch, she can see the rat-man go about his business. He does his laundry, cooks dinner, and sorts through his mail. Boring, human things. Not enough to sweep in and eat him. She cleans her feathers. 

The sun sets while she waits. An owl passes by, delivering the evening paper. It gives Hermione an odd look as it swoops past, but doesn’t comment. The rat-man puts the paper down next to his supper. He lights a fire and settles in at the kitchen table with the paper and his food. Hermione’s stomach grumbles again, and she considers taking a small break in order to catch herself something to eat. 

She has just determined there is nothing awake and alive for her to feast on, when the rat-man gets up again. Focusing again on the not-food, she watches as he changes out of his robes into nightwear. She sees the rat-man’s bare chest and arms, noting the lack of markings, before they disappear under a new layer of clothes.

Having seen what she came to, she takes flight, diving back down to Harry, or where she assumes Harry is. She lands and looks around. A slight shimmer in the air reveals Harry, opening a fold in the cloak for her. She jumps rather clumsily - she is a bird, shut up - under the cloak, and transforms back into her human self.

“Thanks,” she says when Harry sends a renewed warming charm over her.

“What did you see?” Harry asks, sounding weary.

Hermione grits her teeth, frustration welling up now that she is human and can grasp the ramifications of what she saw.

“Nothing,” she mutters quietly. “He’s unmarked. Didn’t receive any correspondence from any Death Eaters to my knowledge.”

“Hmm,” Harry says. “I suppose it’s too early for him to be marked. Perhaps even too early for him to have started funnelling secrets.”

“Maybe,” Hermione says.

They begin making their way back down the path. It has started snowing; it’s too light for them to worry about leaving footprints, but they better leave before it becomes a problem. Just outside the wards - Hermione feels the magic brush her softly as they cross it - they clasp their hands together and Disapparate.

“With Regulus back at school we can probably fit in tailing the rat instead,” Harry offers, unlocking the door to their flat. He flicks on the light, but nothing happens. “Power outage?” he inquires. When Hermione shrugs, he lights the candles they use for sensitive brewing, and casts a _Lumos_ which dislodges from the tips of his wand and hovers in the middle of the room.

“Should we, though?” Hermione asks. She can’t help but wonder if their actions are what will lead Peter directly into the Death Eaters’ arms, sowing distrust and creating alienation. 

“We don’t really have much else to do,” Harry says, shrugging out of his cloak. Beneath it, he is still wearing his dress-robes from the wedding. Hermione can hardly believe it was only yesterday.

“We could always help the Order,” Hermione offers half-heartedly. “I’m sure Dumbledore will have something for us to do.”

“And risk missing the moment when Riddle plants his horcrux?” Harry asks, pulling off his socks and heading towards the shower. “Trust me, Hermione, I would like nothing better than to be out there fighting along with the others, but we’ve got a mission. We can’t mess it up or nothing will matter anyway,” he says to her before closing the door around himself.

“I suppose,” she says to herself. She casts a half-hearted _Reparo_ at the lamp, but it doesn’t so much as flicker. “Tailing the rat it is,” she says to the room at large. Her stomach gurgles rather vehemently, and she goes to fix up dinner.

When Harry comes back out again, he’s in a clean set of robes. He smiles when he sees dinner cooking. Coming over to smell, he leans over her to the pot and inhales deeply.

“Delicious,” he says, scratching his arm again. Hermione eyes it critically.

“Do you have some sort of eczema on your arm?” she asks finally, unable to stifle her worry.

“What? Oh,” Harry says, looking down and seeing his unconscious gesture. He stops. “Yeah, my wand-holster has started irritating my skin a bit.”

“Really?” Hermione asks.

“Yeah, it’s made of Graphorn hide so I’m not surprised, but I thought it would be because of chafing, not whatever this is,” he complains and pulls it off. “I think I’m gonna leave it off for a bit, see if it gets better.”

“Yeah,” says Hermione, thinking hard of everything she knows about Graphorns. As Harry said, irritated skin isn’t really one of the known side-effects. She puts it on her list of things to research, marking it as ‘priority’, before heading off to take a shower herself, still feeling cold after a whole day out in the snow-covered highlands.

~o~o~o~o~

“What’s it say?” Harry asks, watching Hermione read a letter delivered by Caesar just a moment ago.

“It’s from Lily,” she says, unnecessarily as she and Lily have been corresponding with each other regularly for the past few months. “She’s inviting us to tea this Saturday.”

“What, both of us?” he asks, bewildered.

“Yes,” Hermione confirms, still reading the letter.

Harry has had mixed feelings about Hermione having such a close relationship with Lily. One part of him, the one he wishes would shut up, screams in jealousy, saying ‘she’s _my_ mum’. He does his very best to bury these feelings as far down as possible. Another voice states calmly, in a voice reminiscent of Hermione, that it is a good thing, that you want both Hermione and Lily to have friends and that you can’t think of any better ones than them, for each other, even if it stings a little at times.

“Why?” he asks rather than voicing any of this. 

“I don’t know, maybe she’d like to get to know you,” Hermione says vaguely, still focused on the letter.

“Why?” he asks again and tries to keep his voice level so as to not betray any of his thoughts.

Finally snapping out of her concentration, Hermione looks at him. Her expression turns gentle, and Harry assumes he hasn’t managed to keep everything off his face after all.

“Oh, Harry,” she says kindly. “Is it really so impossible to think she might like you and simply want to extend a hand of friendship?”

He’s not sure what his face is doing, but Hermione gives him a sad smile and squeezes his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit of a transition chapter. Next up is more action :)


	40. Mayfair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which death takes a Potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for character death and torture and dark themes and stuff. See notes at the end if you are worried.

Despite Harry’s best of intentions at keeping out of things, it isn’t really an option when Dumbledore’s Patronus comes flying in while they’re sitting huddled together on the couch, poring over ancient potions books.

_“Muggle area in Mayfair under attack. Back-up needed,”_ Dumbledore’s voice echoes eerily from the Phoenix Patronus, followed by coordinates.

“What-” Harry begins. 

Dumbledore knows they must keep out of things. They agreed it was best. They can’t tempt fate by putting themselves in danger when they alone know the full plan. If Dumbledore’s calling them anyway, it must be urgent. 

Hermione must come to the same conclusion, because she jumps up, throwing on her battle robes and holds out her hand, waiting for Harry to join her. Similarly decked out, he joins her, transforming to his Phoenix. She grabs hold of one of his tail feathers, and he _flashes_ them to the location detailed in the message.

When they arrive, it is sheer mayhem.

Harry barely has time to duck out of the way from a spell coming their way, and Hermione throws up a shield charm so powerful it knocks the two of them back. 

“Get cover!” Hermione calls, and Harry is already running when his body is done transforming back into human.

They dive behind a bus shelter. Through the glass they witness the chaos. Death Eaters are marching up the street, casting curses in every direction. Their faces are masked and Harry wonders how many of them he would be able to recognize. Muggles are running away with their arms above their heads, screaming in terror. There are members of the Order here, too. Disillusioned and masked, they come from creaks and corners, casting counter-jinxes, protective shields and distractive flashes and thunders. 

They’re allowing the Muggles to get away, Harry realizes. They can’t go on offense until the civilians are out of the way. But through this tactic, they’re losing. He can see several people, Muggle and Order member both, lying on the street, unmoving. Harry refuses to look too closely, scared to identify whom they’ve lost.

Their time for observation is over when a stray jinx shatters the glass they’re peering through. He and Hermione hurl themselves in opposite directions to avoid the broken glass showering over them. Harry rolls and then gets back up, casting a quick glance over at Hermione to make sure she’s all right. She’s getting up, too. She gives him a concentrated look, and they nod.

Harry pulls out his wand. It’s the holly one, because he still hasn’t put the holster back on with the Elder Wand, and he curses himself for forgetting. But no matter. His holly wand has served him well in the past and will continue to do so now.

He sees a jet of red light coming his way and cuts it off before it can land. The Death Eater which sent it snarls and raises their arm to cast another spell, but Harry intercepts them, yelling:

“Expulso!”

The Death Eater is sent backwards, chest broken open. They don’t get back up. Harry doesn’t have time to breathe in relief before another jet of light comes his way. It’s green, and Harry ducks. The Avada Kedavra hits the building behind him, and the blast causes the bricks to explode out of the wall, filling the air with dust.

Harry raises his arm to shield his eyes, peering through the area with scrunched up eyes. He sends up a protective charm despite not seeing anything, and is lucky he did, because he feels the moment another hex makes contact with it.

Having a direction even if he can’t see the attacker, he points his wand and sends off another _Expulso_ at them. He stumbles out from the rubble of the broken wall, and ducks when a new jet of light comes for him.

“Harry!” someone calls, and he looks up.

James is battling with two Death Eaters, one of whom has pulled their mask from their face. Harry recognizes the tall blond man as Yaxley. James seems to be doing all right, so Harry leaves him to it. 

Scanning the crowd, he realizes all the Muggles have left; it’s only Order members and Death Eaters fighting now. He spots a few more people he recognizes, among them Elphias Doge who Harry wouldn’t have thought joined the physical fights but who seems to be holding his own, Alice and Frank Longbottom, and Moody.

Off in a corner of the street, Harry sees three Death Eaters ganging up on a short bloke who looks to be doing his best to beat off the offensive spells, but without any room to move offensively. Harry sneaks over there, carefully avoiding the stray spells flying over his head, coming up behind the trio.

He sends a gust of wind pushing the wizard back several paces, and then blast the place open with a well-aimed _Confringo_. He holds up an arm over his face to protect against the heat. Seeing the three Death Eaters down, he moves on.

In another part of the street— Harry’s heart almost jumps out of his chest. Sirius is battling— it must be, it can’t be anyone else with that hair— Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry sees red. 

Sirius is sending blasting curses and blazing jinxes at Bellatrix who only dances away laughing, all the while sending hex after hex at Sirius. She has always been a most competent witch; Harry can see it in the casual way she flicks her wrist without compromising form. Without missing a beat, without even a glance, she cuts down another Order member who is sneaking up on them, as if they are beneath her notice.

“Is that all you can do?” Bellatrix taunts Sirius, smothering a well-aimed _Depulso_ with an almost lazy wave of her wand. “Ickle little Sirius can’t keep up?” Bellatrix asks in that horrible baby voice, and laughs when Sirius takes a hit to the stomach from the purple hex she cast at him. “Does the boo-boo hurt?” she keeps grinding as Sirius comes down on one knee, clutching his gut.

Harry is not aware of running, but he must be, because very soon he is across the battlefield, coming up behind Bellatrix. He can see Sirius’ concentrated expression break open in surprise when he spots Harry, and the spell he was about to cast is halted.

Sirius casts a _Protego_ but can’t do anything else with Harry right behind Bellatrix. Knowing he has cost Sirius’ the advantage, Harry knows he must act quickly. 

“That’s positively embarrassing for you!” Sirius calls, jumping to his feet with a manic grin. Harry wonders how much pain he is in. “Lost your touch, Bella?”

Bellatrix shrieks out a laughter which makes her sound almost as insane as she will one day become. She points her wand at Sirius and yells:

“Crucio!”

The jet doesn’t have time to reach Sirius before Harry steps up and pulls her back against himself, one hand encircling her throat and the other gripping her wand hand, forcing it up into the air instead of Sirius.

“Not today, Bellatrix,” Harry says roughly, ignoring her choked howls.

“Harry!” Sirius calls, but Harry shoots him a look, and he pauses.

Bellatrix’s wand is still firing off the _Crucio_ into the sky and, getting an idea, Harry tightens his grip on her hand holding the wand. Slowly, painstakingly, he pulls the wand down, careful to aim away from any humans. Bellatrix seems to understand what he’s attempting to do, because she tries to let go of the wand, but Harry presses his hand down harder over her fingers, keeps his grip tight even as he hears a small crack. Then, finally, the wand reaches its destination.

He feels her jerk in his arms as the _Cruciatus_ hits her, but no more than a gurgle escapes her mouth as he still squeezes her throat as hard as he can. Her attempts at escaping him, the vicious kicks and the sharp elbows, disappear as her whole being is focused on the pain her own spell forces upon her.

Beneath his hand, he can feel her throat working convulsively as no breath is allowed to enter and no scream can come out, just the awful gurgling, slowly growing weaker. Endlessly it seems to go on, and Harry’s hands begin to cramp.

“Harry!”

He can distantly hear Sirius calling him, but Harry can’t look at him right now. He can’t face whatever it will be.

He only knows it’s over when the spell sizzles out abruptly, wand hot and smoking slightly. Bellatrix is still twitching, aftereffects of muscles pushed into hyperactivity without any motor to run them, but soon even that stops. He drops her to the ground, and she lands with a thud, her body limp.

Looking up, Harry finds Sirius staring at him with a strange expression. Harry feels his heart constrict painfully. He knows how it must have looked. He knows what thoughts must be swirling around in Sirius’ mind right now, but he doesn’t have time for that now. He swallows once, grips his wand tightly, and re-enters the mayhem of the battle.

Still more Death Eaters are showing up, and Harry swallows back a wave of panic as the number drowns out the Order members. Each member is fighting off two or more Death Eaters. He spots Lily, back-to-back with Emmeline Vance, duelling three hooded figures, firing off one spell after another in such an elegant way it almost looks like a light display.

In the middle of the street, Frank and Moody are forcing a group of five Death Eaters to slowly back up. Gideon and Fabian Prewett are laughing as they send whips of magic through the air, colliding with dark hooded figures all around. Hermione has joined ranks with Aberforth and together they’re pushing a trio of Death Eaters back towards the end of the street.

There is a loud crack in the air, louder and more reverberating than the sound of Apparition, and Harry looks around for the threat. What he sees causes the blood to freeze in his veins. One of the spells sent by a Death Eater has sliced through the brick building lining the street, and slowly but surely, the topmost layer of the entire building is sliding off its base. Everyone is too busy with their duels to notice. Even Sirius has re-joined the fight, dancing around the yellow and blue shots of light that two Death Eaters are sending his way.

Harry grits his teeth and tries to think. What spells does he know which will protect them all? He tries to cast a _Reparo_ but while a few bricks seal back together, they break quickly again under the pressure of the entire building folding down over them. Thinking back, he remembers: 

“ _Arresto Momentum!_ ” and the building’s descent slows down considerably.

Getting a few precious seconds more to think, he casts around for something to stop it for real. Desperately, he transfigures a few broken bricks into thick metal poles which he levitates into position before the crumbling wall, stabilizing it. When the ends of the poles pierce the soft grouting, splitting the wall, he transforms the outer layers of the wall to steel.

By now, a few others have begun to notice what’s happening, and Harry sighs in relief when Frank, Fabian, and Gideon join him.

“It’s not going to hold,” Fabian yells.

He’s right. They can hear the deep rumbling as the foundation cracks and the entire building starts to sink, collapsing in on itself.

“It doesn’t need to hold,” Harry calls. “It just needs to go down straight!”

Rather than trying to keep it upright, Harry changes his strategy to sending spells to cause minor explosions towards the high parts. As large blocks of loose brick wall begin crashing down on them, Harry gives that up quickly, sending a _Protego_ to protect them from the falling projectiles. 

Gideon seems to have taken his words to heart, though, because after only a moment’s pause, he sends a dark grey spell straight through the wall. After a second, Harry hears the deep rumble as the spell hits, imploding the building from the inside. 

As Gideon keeps casting his grey spells into the building, Harry, Frank, and Fabian, work on reinforcing the metal sheet stopping the spray of gravel from raining over the street.

Minutes tick by, and slowly the building comes down. Soon, they’re joined by Lily, Aberforth, Emmeline, and several more. Slowly but surely, they level the building. Benjy Fenwick and Aberforth stand to the sides, making sure the neighbouring houses don’t collapse in on the newly hollowed out space.

When Harry finally dares take his eyes off the destroyed house, his gaze lands on the street, and the remains of the battle. His heart constricts when he sees Hermione bent over a body which looks almost like-

“JAMES!” Lily screams, rushing past. 

She almost trips over a fallen Death Eater and then again on a small crater in the street, before she skids to her knees next to Hermione. Harry’s feet feel glued to the ground. _No, this isn’t happening. It can’t be happening_. Sirius rushes past him to join Lily and Hermione, and still Harry remains frozen in his spot.

“We’ve got to get moving!” Moody calls out. “The Aurors will be here any second, and they can’t find us all together.” He points at Frank and Alice. “You two, go home. This is your day off. You were never here.” He turns to Fenwick. “You, check the perimeter for any straggling Muggles. Diggle and Meadows are already there. Obliviate everyone you can find. We can’t have a breach of the Statute of Secrecy on our hands.” Turning to Aberforth, Moody says: “Go back to Hog’s Head. I’m sure plenty of Death Eaters will converge to lick their wounds. Find out what they saw.”

People begin popping away under Moody’s direction. Harry tries to come back to the present, but his mind is stuck on James, some fifty paces away, unmoving.

“Harry!” Hermione calls as Harry staggers over. Her face is deathly pale. 

Harry can’t feel his feet. He doesn’t feel the impact when he collapses down on his knees next to Sirius.

“James,” Lily is sobbing. “Jamsie, James, please wake up, Jamie.” Her voice is completely broken, and tears stream down her face. “Ja- James, you— please, Jamsie— don’t leave me— I can’t —”

Harry watches like in a dream. Somewhere far away, he can hear Sirius swearing up a storm. He sees Caradoc Dearborn appear from nowhere, bending over James, casting spells which hovers over him like an aura of light. He hears Lily’s wail when Dearborn falters.

“Harry,” Hermione whispers. 

He can barely hear her. He looks at her hollowly. She looks hard-set, and Harry wonders if she’s going to say something about them having to leave. Something practical. Something unimportant. He doesn’t want to hear it. He turns away, but her hand clamps down on his chest, making a fist in his dirty robes.

“Harry, your Animagus,” she whispers at him. “You’re a Phoenix.”

Yeah? So what? Harry doesn’t see how this is relevant. He wishes he were a stag instead. He wishes he told James about who he is. What does protecting the future matter if they can’t save the ones they love? Darkness seems to be closing in from all sides.

“Your tears,” Hermione insists, nails digging into his skin.

And finally something penetrates the shock Harry is in. A Phoenix’ tears have healing properties. Even the most potent of healing potions is nothing compared to the power of Phoenix tears.

He shuts his eyes, seeking his other self. At first he can’t find anything. Just the empty husk of his grief. But then, far down, he hears the fluttering of wings and he feels the warmth which fills him when he listens to Phoenix song. He transforms.

Ignoring the gasps he hears from the others, he stretches out his wings and ruffles his feathers. Hermione makes the others move back as Harry lands next to James and bends his head over James’ face. It’s easier as a bird. It doesn’t matter that James is deathly pale and not breathing. Harry drops his beak to James’ cheek and caresses him there. Then he slowly lifts his head and cries over his father’s heart.

The others are holding their breath, but Harry can already feel the magic at work, the few drops of pure love rushing through James’ bloodstream, fighting away the invasive darkness. He continues to cry because the tears won’t stop, originating from that same place, that deep well of _something_ which keeps him going even when everything seems lost. James is breathing again. His heart is beating. Soon, he opens his eyes, gasping for breath.

“James!” Lily cries and throws herself over James’ form, hugging him, pulling at him.

Harry shifts back into himself and moves aside.

“Lily, love,” James says with a croaky voice. He embraces Lily, looking shaken, but over Lily's shoulder he meets Harry's eyes for a brief moment. When hazel meets green, something is understood between them. James nods, and Harry nods back. Then James turns his attention back to Lily. "It's all right, love. I'm fine."

Harry watches the scene with a feeling of trepidation which only grows when he sees a darkly hooded figure out of the corner of his eye. When he turns to look, the figure is gone. Harry swallows.

Hermione grasps his hand, squeezing it hard. He feels absolutely exhausted. He leans heavily on her, but she is steady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep wanting to write fluff but it just will not come. Instead we have this weird plotline which I'll just... leave here, I guess. 
> 
> Warning: the chapter includes the use of the Cruciatus curse, choking a Death Eater to death, and a brief character death of one of the main cast.


	41. Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hermione speaks some words of truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and sorry for the late update! I was with a friend all day yesterday (one of two people I'd like to call my corona-family) and boy, is it nice to be anywhere except at home staring at my phone. When I told her about my missed deadline, she said: "tell them you thought it was leap year", and I dunno, I thought that was just such a hilarious excuse - soooo there you are xD
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter (I know I did)! It's extra long, so consider it my apology for the delay.

Time seems to fly by until it’s Saturday, and Harry spends most of the time alternating between following Peter and trying to come up with good conversational subjects.

“You are taking this way too seriously,” Hermione tells him an hour before they’re set to leave when she finds him standing in the cramped bathroom trying to flatten his hair.

“Eashy for uuh uh shay,” Harry says through the comb he’s holding between his teeth.

“You saw her every day for most of last year,” Hermione states with an enquiring eyebrow lifted.

“That was different,” Harry says, pulling the comb out of his mouth. “We were classmates. We hardly spoke to each other.”

“And whose fault was that?”

Harry gives her a betrayed look. That’s not fair. He could hardly look at her without getting teary eyed, let alone hold a conversation.

Hermione leaves him alone after that. Harry gives his hair another comb-through, to no avail. Rather than laying flat, it seems his hair has taken this as a challenge and is now standing on end more lopsided than even after a ferocious Quidditch match. Admitting himself defeated, he tucks away the comb and goes to pull on some appropriate robes.

Five minutes to two, they walk out of their flat, step behind a dumpster and Disapparate. Happy he didn’t eat anything beforehand, Harry swallows back the wave of nausea welling up. Hermione pats him gently on the back.

“Ready?” she asks.

Mustering every bit of Gryffindor courage he ever had, he nods, and they set off towards the Potter house.

Seeing as the wedding wasn’t that long ago, Harry is more familiar with his surroundings than he would have expected. He still lets Hermione walk first up to the house and knock three times using the little Griffin-knocker.

“Hermione,” says the Griffin-knocker pleasantly. “Lily will be right down.”

“Thank you,” says Hermione.

A second later, the door is flung open and there is Lily. She smiles widely at them and throws her arms around Hermione.

“Hermione,” she says into Hermione’s bushy hair. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Of course,” says Hermione, smiling and hugging Lily back. “Thank you for inviting us.”

At this, Lily looks up and sets eyes on Harry. She lets go of Hermione and regards Harry with a hesitant smile.

“Harry,” she says, seeming unsure if a hug or a handshake is appropriate.

Harry’s mouth is entirely too dry to be of any help, but he holds out his hand to shake, forcing on a smile. Lily shakes his hand, putting her other hand over both of theirs. Her hands are warm and strong.

“Welcome,” Lily says, once they’ve let go. “Come inside; it’s freezing out there.”

“Thank you,” Hermione says and pulls off her coat.

The orange cat, Lyon if Harry remembers correctly, sidles up to them and gives Harry’s hand a careful sniff before stroking himself against Harry’s leg.

“He usually doesn’t like strangers,” Lily says, giving Harry an approving look.

“We’ve met,” Harry says, smiling crookedly. 

Lyon sweeps his tail one more time along Harry’s leg before abandoning him to jump up on Hermione’s shoulder. She immediately begins cooing at Lyon who purrs delightedly.

“Now that introductions are settled,” Lily says smiling, and shows them into the sitting room. 

Harry is rather pleased to see the place isn’t quite as clean as it was at the wedding. It reminded him too much of Aunt Petunia. Now he spots piles of newspapers, a pot of something smelling wonderful cooking on the stove in the kitchen, robes flung over random pieces of furniture, a stray sock which swiftly dances up the stairs when Lily points her wand at it.

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess,” Lily says as she notices Harry looking.

“No!” Harry says quickly, perhaps a bit too vehemently. “It’s perfect.”

Lily looks hesitant for a second, but then smiles.

“I’ve got a stew cooking, but it’ll be a few hours still. I’ll just put on a kettle for us, shall I?”

“That would be lovely,” Hermione says, easily breaking the tension as she sits down in one of the armchairs and picks up a knitting pattern. “Are you going full house-witch?” she asks with raised eyebrows at Lily.

Lily laughs. “Believe it or not, that’s James’. He said something about being a real provider and began picking up all sorts of odd habits. Down in the cellar, he’s working on some sort of woodwork, and I’ve never seen the garden as flourishing as it has been the past few weeks.”

“Sounds very nice,” Hermione says, flipping through the pages with interest.

“And in the bedroom-” Lily begins, but cuts herself off as she remembers Harry who feels himself go red like a flaming tomato.

“You’ll have to tell me some other time,” Hermione says, giggling in a very un-Hermione-esque way.

“Of course,” Lily says, looking a little red herself. “Tea!” she then says loudly and disappears into the kitchen.

“Stop looking like someone broke your favourite toy,” Hermione says to him sternly as Harry shuffles his feet awkwardly. “She’s newly married and a teenager.”

“She’s my _mum_!” Harry argues in a loud whisper. “I do _not_ want to think about what she gets up to in the bedroom.”

“Well, too bad for you because she doesn’t know that.”

“It’s not like I can tell her,” Harry argues, and Hermione gives him a look he doesn’t understand.

Before he has time to ask, Lily comes back out with a tea tray floating ahead of her at her command. Between tea and biscuits, and Hermione managing the conversation like a true politician, Harry manages to relax. Soon he’s telling Lily about his and Hermione’s Animagus-project, and she, in turn, reveals she has discovered her form to be a doe. This leads to her having to show it to them and Harry tries not to cry when Lily looks at him with large, doleful eyes. It becomes slightly easier when she breaks the lamp by accidentally stepping on it.

By the time they’ve fixed the sitting room, drunk some more tea and cleaned the platter of tiny sandwiches, Lily declares the stew ready.

“James and Sirius should be here any minute,” she says, checking her watch. “You’ll stay for dinner, of course?” she asks, just confirming, but Harry feels his heart sink.

“Sirius is coming?”

“He usually does, when they’ve been at work together,” Lily says, watching him with concern.

“Perhaps we should come back another time,” Harry says, voice sounding odd even to his own ears. “We wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t be! And I know James wants to thank you…”

“There’s no need” Harry interjects quickly. He can’t imagine anything worse than his dad thanking him for saving him. “Really!” he adds, slapping his own legs, and wishing immediately he didn’t.

“Oh,” she says, looking crestfallen.

Hermione gives him a sharp kick to the shin, but Harry grits his teeth and blinks to rid himself of his watering eyes. He’s not ready to face neither James nor Sirius.

“Thank you, though,” Harry hastens to say, trying to convey his earnestness. “Perhaps some other time.”

“Okay,” Lily says doubtfully. “I mean yes, of course. You’re welcome any time.”

“Thank you,” Harry says again, and stands up. “This was lovely.”

Without looking like he’s running away with his tail between his legs, he pulls Hermione up to her feet next to him and begins shuffling them towards the door as fast as he can.

“Thank you, Lily,” Hermione says, quickly hugging her. Harry takes their coats down and pushes Hermione’s into her arms at the same time as he attempts to pull his own on. His left arm ends up going into his right sleeve. Whatever. Hermione is still talking: “Next time, you should come to our place. It’s not as nice as this, but-”

“Hermione,” Harry says with emphasis, pulling on her elbow, half his coat dragging on the floor, a lost cause.

“It was nice seeing you!” Hermione hurriedly calls, letting herself be dragged by Harry, coat still in her arms.

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry yells over his shoulder and opens the door, shuffling Hermione out ahead of himself. “Tea was lovely. We should do this again. Say hi to James for me. Have a great day!”

“You, too,” Lily says, still watching them as they run down the path and off towards the Apparition point.

~o~o~o~o~

Hermione has butterflies in her stomach by the time they get to Bathilda’s house. She has been exchanging letters with Remus and he wrote to her he was hoping he would make it to this meeting. Just the thought of seeing him again sends her heart aflutter. 

Harry is very quiet beside her. He worries his bottom lip with his teeth and keeps looking around. Hermione has a few guesses as to what it could be about, but she is loath to voice any of them.

They haven’t spoken to any of the other Order members since the attack on Mayfair in London. She’s not sure exactly what Harry’s worrying about, but she can garner a few guesses. He has never liked being the centre of attention, and turning into a Phoenix right in front of them and then saving an all but dead man from certain death will, unfortunately, create some stir.

Dumbledore comes up to greet them. He smiles genially at them, but Hermione can see the deep shadows under his eyes. 

“Harry, Hermione,” he says as he comes up to them. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Professor,” says Hermione politely. “How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you,” Dumbledore replies. “How are you?”

“Also well, thank you,” Hermione answers for both herself and Harry, as Harry seems to be busy avoiding anyone’s gaze. “Was there something you wanted to tell us?”

“Indeed. I’ve just spoken to Alastor and he informs me the Ministry is in a dire state. The late arrival of the Aurors during the attack on Mayfair is not a coincidence. I’ll explain more once the meeting starts, but I think we might expect some changes, and soon,” Dumbledore tells them as he guides them into the meeting room where most members are already seated.

“The Minister-?” Hermione begins, but Dumbledore shakes his head.

“Harold is a competent wizard, but these are unprecedented times. I heard he increased security at Azkaban by adding more Dementors to the guard.”

Hermione knows how much Dumbledore dislikes the Dementors and even now she can see the hard lines around his mouth betraying what he thinks of this new strategy of the Minister for Magic. She also wonders at the unaccounted number of Dementors, if they add more. Surely, this will look as good as an invitation to Voldemort.

“Of course, it helps very little when the prison is filled with nothing but wrongly accused and long-term prisoners who are unlikely to know what’s going on, and even less likely to try to escape. If madness hasn’t got to them yet, their memory will have gone. Or their magic.”

Hermione thinks wistfully of Kingsley who abolished the Dementors. She and Harry discussed for a long time whether to bring in Kingsley into the Order or not, but in the end decided that only if things were getting really bad will they involve him. He’s dependable yes, but still young. He hasn’t built up the trust and experience in the Ministry which will become oh so valuable in future.

“My point is,” Dumbledore says, stopping right before the door to regard them, “that as Voldemort infiltrates the Ministry everybody is even more at risk. You remember what we talked about last time?” He waits for Hermione and Harry to exchange a look and nod before continuing. “I would ask that you assist Alastor with the demonstration tonight.”

Hermione feels something constrict in her chest, but she bites back the words that threaten to spill out. She nods. Dumbledore gives them a serious nod, before walking away.

As they enter the room, a small hush comes over the members already there. They all pause whatever conversation they have and turn to stare at Harry. Hermione senses more than sees how Harry flinches. Then, with an admirable effort, he shakes it off, pretends not to notice and goes to take his place. Hermione wishes they were alone so she could tell him how proud she if of him, and then squashes that impulse as it would surely be even worse than the stares for him.

They sit down at the table next to the Longbottoms. Hermione’s mind is still on Dumbledore’s words, but she greets Alice with a smile as cheerful as she can muster. She always gets a lump in her throat when she sees Alice. Superimposed over her face is the picture of a different Alice; an Alice aged beyond her years and with empty eyes and a vacant smile. 

Two minutes before the meeting is about to start, James, Sirius and Lily come dashing in, panting and looking rather sweaty.

“Sorry- we’re- late,” Lily pants, getting into the empty seat next to Harry. He smiles tentatively at her, and Lily grins through her gasping breaths.

“Got held up- at the Ministry,” James says, only slightly less out of breath. He joins Lily on the other side.

Sirius says nothing at all, but collapses into the chair next to James as if his legs can’t carry him anymore.

“No matter,” says Dumbledore cheerfully. “Now that we’re all here, we will begin.”

As promised, things are looking dire indeed. Dumbledore begins by telling them of the casualties from the Mayfair battle.

“We lost Samia and Houde Young – they both succumbed at Saint Mungo’s after intense treatment for spell damage. Also, Tiberius Shunpike was sentenced to two years in Azkaban for conspiracy against the ministry, leaving his wife and child behind in Mitcham. Fabian and Gideon’s sister Molly has kindly agreed to help her out in this difficult time.”

Hermione notes Moody’s grim expression as Dumbledore gives them an account of the state of things at the Ministry. She looks away when his magical eye swishes over to regard her.

“In short, you can trust no one outside of this room, you must take every precaution to ensure you’re not followed, and when speaking to someone you do know, make sure they are who they say they are. Look for signs of changed behaviour; there’s always a risk they may have been Imperiused.”

“Cheerful times, eh?” Hermione can hear James mutter, and then the resounding smack when Sirius whacks him over the head.

“You almost died!”

“All right, calm your hippogriffs,” James mutters, massaging his head. 

Edgar Bones goes on to tell them of new legislation coming to pass. He informs them regretfully that he can’t put the brakes on all of them because his superiors are starting to get suspicious.

“It’s a balance of making sure enough of the decrees are going through so as to remain under everyone’s radar, and stop the ones that will really kick the Wizarding community to its knees from reaching a vote,” Bones explains, looking grim. “Next week, it’s going to become illegal to purchase a wand without proof of identity. They say it’s a safety precaution to stop Dark wizards, but really it’s just increasing the control the Ministry has over who’s allowed to use magic. 

“The Ministry will, however, _not_ be allowed to ‘enter and search’ someone’s home for ‘suspicion of harbouring dark artefacts’ or in a ‘random search’. The whole thing is insane. It’s like none of them even remember our common justice system. It’s all right, of course, since they all believe themselves to be exempt from the law. They wouldn’t be so quick to vote yes if they thought _their_ homes could be the next target for a random search. Most of the people in the Wizengamot have got more to hide than a Death Eater.”

“Thank you, Edgar,” Dumbledore says. “It is important work you’re doing. Keep it up.”

“Of course, sir,” Bones says, and settles back into his chair.

“We have begun talks with Garrick and he seems amenable to our cause,” Dumbledore tells them and, at some of their confused looks, adds, “Mr Ollivander, that is.”

Hermione glances at Harry who, at last, has stopped his flickering looks at Sirius, and is now regarding Dumbledore with a frown between his brows. He turns slightly to meet her gaze and they share a concerned expression.

“It is not perfect, but it’s a start,” Dumbledore finishes.

A few others give their reports as well. Hermione notices Hagrid is gone, already on his way to meet with the giants, no doubt. Caradoc Dearborn says they’ve increased security at St Mungo’s since they noticed a decrease in visitors.

“Too afraid to come,” he says. “We treated a witch with a severely progressed case of Dragon Pox. It was all we could do to give her a painless passing. If she had come in earlier, we could have saved her - she was young and healthy otherwise.”

Hermione squeezes Harry’s wrist; he has gone stiff at the mention of Dragon Pox. Thankfully, they move on quickly. 

Once new missions have been determined and assigned, they move on to a practical. Moody steps up to the front of the room.

“CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” he shouts, and about half the room jump out of their seats. “It’s all about constant vigilance,” Moody says, eyeing them all, one eye going around the faces of the people sat at the table, assessing their reactions, the other, magical, eye jumping back and forth in no discernible order. “We lost two great wizards last week, and the worst part is that it was completely unnecessary.“ Moody shuffles back and forth in his spot, meeting their gazes. “We’re fighting a war,” he continues. “And despite what Albus seems to think, you’re not ready for it. Most of you are just a bunch of snot-nosed children waddling around waving sticks at each other.”

A few people twist uncomfortably, others glare defiantly. Some are grinning. Hermione notes that it’s mostly the Aurors who are grinning, probably used to Moody’s gruff ways.

“Normally, I wouldn’t care,” Moody states bluntly. “The natural order would take care of things.” He glares at James and Sirius as he says this. “But since it’s Albus filling your head with words of heroism and duty to the country, I can’t say I don’t understand how some of you might fall trap for the blatant manipulation.”

At these words, several people twist in their seats to see Dumbledore’s reaction, but if they expect anger, they’re disappointed. Dumbledore is sitting still in his seat, fingers intertwined with fiddling thumbs, looking at Moody with a polite, interested expression. Hermione thinks she can spot a twitch in his cheek, but she might just imagine that.

“SO!” Moody continues with a booming voice, and all of them quickly turn back to look at him again. “It falls to me to teach you some general ways of staying alive.”

He proceeds to put them through a tough regimen of dodging, counter-curses, how to safely retreat, when to call for back-up and a few really nasty tricks if all else fails. Hermione is silently impressed, both with Moody for so concisely teaching the group of adults who, by all accounts should find being taught basic defensive skills demeaning or at the very least somewhat patronizing, and with the group, for taking to the teachings so quickly. Even Elphias Doge jumps and ducks as Moody calls out, panting and sweating profusely, but not even once stopping to complain.

“Now,” Moody says, calling a halt to the general mayhem of the room, and everyone comes to a stand-still. “This is all very well and good for the normal dark curses and hexes and what have you, but there are some things that can’t be beat.”

The silence seems to grow thicker in the room, and Hermione silently tucks away her wand and sits down to listen. They never did get to have Moody as a professor, and from what everybody told them, he was the best Auror there ever was.

“Some curses can’t be countered, can’t be protected against and can’t be stopped. Anyone know what I’m talking about?”

Hermione looks around, and several of the members look grim. She glances at Harry who is frowning. Like her, he’s probably wondering what Moody’s referring to. What dark magic could possibly be so destructive there is no countering them? Surely, they would have encountered it before now.

“The unforgivable curses,” Moody supplies them.

Harry stiffens next to her, and Hermione blinks.

“But--“ she says, but quickly shuts her mouth when Moody turns on her.

“Three curses unable to be stopped. If you encounter them, all you can do is duck and hope for the best.”

Hermione listens as Moody goes on to explain their properties. Both she and Harry are of course intimately familiar with all of them, but to say they’re unstoppable is…

She wonders if he’s building it up in order to emphasize their danger. They _are_ very dangerous, and perhaps he has seen the inexperience of the group and doesn’t wish to give them false confidence. She listens attentively, and even jots down a few things she didn’t know about them, but as his lecture winds to a close, he still hasn’t got to counters.

She glances at Harry who likewise is frowning up at Moody. Tentatively, she raises a hand.

“You!” Moody says, pointing at her.

“Sorry, sir,” she begins and tries to beat down the sense of being a schoolgirl talking back to her teacher. She is a grown woman who knows what she’s talking about. She straightens out her shoulders and continues in a stronger voice. “You’ve missed the part about how some of them _can_ be countered.”

A hush goes through the audience. Moody glares at her with both eyes.

“No, there’s no counter for these three curses. Weren’t you listening?”

“I was,” Hermione answers calmly. “But you’re wrong.” She meets Moody’s gaze, judges if he really isn’t going to tell them about the counters, and sees nothing but confidence, and slight irritation at her rebuttal. Slowly, realization dawns on her. “There is a way of countering at least one of them.”

“No there isn’t!”

It’s not Moody who answered, but Frank Longbottom. Hermione turns her head to see him. He has stood up, and he’s glaring at her.

“Yes, there is.”

“Who here has actually gone through Auror training and studied these curses?” Frank asks aggressively.

Hermione lifts her chin.

“I have,” Harry says quietly.

Hermione turns to look at him, relief flooding through her.

A beat of silence, as everyone digests this.

“Graphorn crap,” Moody growls. “I know everybody who’s gone through training, having taught most of them personally, and I sure haven’t seen your scrawny face there, I’d remember.”

“Nevertheless, I’m a fully qualified Auror who has spent excessive time studying the origin, cause and effects of the unforgivable curses.”

“You might have dreamed you did, but seeing as you got your friend convinced there’s a counter, I’d say you missed some vital parts.”

Harry stands up.

“As you are aware, the things discussed in this room are top secret,” he begins. Hermione is glad to see he seems composed and focused. “The future of Wizarding Britain lies in your hands. It is of the utmost importance you don’t get caught, don’t get snared, and don’t get turned.”

“Yeah, thanks for the tip. We’ll remember that, whenever it comes up,” Fabian says. 

Someone laughs nervously. 

“You won’t know when it will happen. You don’t know who will be next,” Harry continues as if he didn’t hear, eyes lingering on a few people, among them, Sturgis Podmore. “There are a few things you can do to protect yourselves, though.”

Everybody watches him intently as he steps up to the front. He pulls out his wand, and several people tense.

“You are by now familiar with the three Unforgivable curses.”

Moody makes a disgusted noise.

“They can’t be blocked, sonny, or we’d all be practicing it daily,” he says, but his magical eye is completely focused on the wand in Harry’s hand.

“True,” Harry says easily. “They can’t be blocked. But some of them can be countered.”

“How?” James says, seemingly despite himself. “Like Moody says, there’s no counter-curse or we’d know about it.”

“No counter-curse, no,” Harry agrees again. “However, there is a way. And you all need to know it. Hermione, if you please?” he asks, turning to her.

Breaking out in a cold sweat, she gets up. If people were apprehensive before, it is nothing compared to what they are now, as she steps up to stand opposite Harry.

“Ready?” she asks Harry, gripping her wand in a shaking hand.

“Now, wait just a second-” Alice begins, looking worriedly between Harry and Hermione.

“Go ahead,” Harry says, meeting Hermione’s gaze.

Raising her wand, hand trembling, she points it straight at Harry and says, clearly for the people in the room: “ _Imperio_.”

At once, the string of power connects between herself and Harry. A surge in energy, a feeling of being in complete control, washes over her. Tentatively she flicks her wand, and Harry raises both his hands above his head. Then, calmly on the outside, but with a shockwave going through their connection and up her wand-arm, he breaks free, and lowers his hands again. Hermione’s wand vibrates as the curse fizzles out and dies. Her whole hand feels numb, and she cradles it gently.

“Well, that doesn’t prove anything,” Frank says impatiently. “They know each other!”

Turning to him, Harry shrugs and says: “You are welcome to try yourself, Auror Longbottom.”

“I’ll do it,” Moody growls and steps up. 

“Give me your worst,” Harry says, opening his arms to show how defenceless he is. Despite knowing that not to be the case, Hermione watches worriedly as Moody points his wand at Harry.

“Imperio,” Moody says.

The crowd stares at Harry, and then, when nothing happens, at Moody, whose expression is going more and more frustrated.

“ _Imperio_ ,” Moody says again, stronger this time. But still, nothing happens.

They all, seemingly astonished, watch as Harry smiles a little and turns to them.

“You can all learn to withstand the Imperius curse. You just need to practice.”

“It’s illegal,” Alice counters. “It’s Unforgivable.”

“It’s what you’ll face once the Death Eaters realize you can’t be manipulated or lured in. And you don’t stand a chance if you’ve never experienced it before. Of course, the choice is entirely yours. You can walk out right now and never have to listen to me talk about it again. This is an offer, not a command.”

Grumbling slightly amongst each other, Hermione watches Harry as he goes to speak to Dumbledore. Moody is standing alone, following Harry with both his normal and his magical eye. She can’t quite interpret the look she sees, but she thinks it might just be adjacent to impressed.

Before long, the members have come to the consensus they would all like to learn. Even Arabella Figg who Hermione didn’t recognize until Harry pointed her out gave it a go, but it turned out she couldn’t withstand it no more than one can withstand gravity.

Hermione tries to quell the nausea crawling up her throat when she is forced to cast the curse over and over at people she trusts, likes and even loves. It’s important, she tells herself. It’s important they are prepared. 

When the meeting draws to a close, she spots Harry walking up to Sirius, who makes a quick beeline for James. Seeing Harry’s crestfallen face, she clenches her fists. Before she’s quite aware what she’s doing, she has marched up to Sirius and grabbed his arm. Ignoring James’ raised eyebrows and Sirius protests, she drags him off towards a secluded corner of the room.

“What are you doing?” Sirius asks, rubbing his wrist once she has released him.

“What are _you_ doing?” she counters, glaring at him.

“Talking to my friend…?” Sirius says, waving back at James who is still regarding the two of them curiously.

“And ignoring Harry!” Hermione says, fumes basically pouring out of her. “How dare you play it hot and cold with him? Don’t you know how much he cares about you?”

Sirius looks consternated, but quickly gathers himself up and glares down at Hermione.

“Hey, he’s the one who snuck out without saying anything!”

“What?” Hermione says, blindsided by this information. “No, he didn’t.”

“Yes, he did,” Sirius says flatly. “I was there, I think I’d remember. And I really thought we had something,” he adds, looking away with a flush crawling up his cheeks. “We danced, at the wedding. I thought-” He breaks off. “Whatever. It doesn't matter.”

“Sirius?”

“Anyway, _he’s_ the one who’s playing hot and cold. Not me!” Sirius says stiffly, still looking away. 

“He left without saying anything?” Hermione asks, just to confirm.

“Yeah, real classy,” Sirius mutters, crossing his arms and leaning back against some cupboards.

“Well, that’s just stupid!” Hermione exclaims.

She marches off, ignoring Sirius’ yell after her. _Stupid boys and their stupid inability to talk about things_ , she thinks murderously as she grabs hold of Harry next. Without waiting for him to make his goodbyes, she pulls him out of the house, outside the wards, and Apparates them away.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think so far?
> 
> If you'd like to help me spread the word, reblog this post on [Tumblr](https://raziella.tumblr.com/post/623981222044073984/and-i-looked-back-on-a-broken-world) Or come say hi :)  
> 


End file.
